


Haint Blue

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1990s, Bars and Pubs, Don't Try This At Home, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Secrets, Ghosts, Half-Sibling Incest, Hero Dogs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Ouija, Southern Gothic, Story within a Story, Waffle House, Wakes & Funerals, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, switched at birth - Freeform, they're lesbians harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: After his parents’ passing, Barrett's younger brother comes to live with him in the dilapidated house he inherited. But as the brothers grow too close for comfort, so do their family secrets. Barrett finds himself haunted by the ghosts of the past — literally.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 80
Kudos: 46





	1. Hail, Well Met

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, El! And thanks to Ani for a more succinct summary. <3
> 
> If you want a gander at a porch ceiling painted haint blue, [check out this house.](https://www.captivatinghouses.com/2020/06/21/1850-historic-house-in-crawford-georgia/) I have many, many references for abandoned old houses all through Georgia and will happily talk about them if you want.
> 
> The is a completed work which I will be updating regularly.

Barrett had known the existence of his half-brother Declan for a long time — the rumors painted him a troublemaker, a smart-aleck and a general pain in the ass — but this was the first time they’d come face-to-face. It was eight o’clock on a hot July night, and Declan’s knock had rattled the front door on its hinges. 

At first, Barrett had been hesitant to open up — Declan was big and he looked mean. Shared genetic material notwithstanding, Barrett couldn’t think exactly what the two of them could really say to each other. 

Still, this was his house and he couldn’t be that much of a coward. He opened the door and said hi. His greeting was met with silence. Declan was sizing him up. The humid air of the Georgia summer had teased out the curls of Declan’s dark hair. He looked hot and irritated, his shadow filling up the spaces around him.

“You must’ve heard,” he said flatly. At Barrett’s blank expression, Declan clarified with thinly veiled contempt, “Sandy Hyatt’s dead. The funeral is on Thursday. Thought you should know, since she gave birth to you and all.”

Barrett had heard. Everyone who had known his parents had been calling him all afternoon about Sandy’s passing. They gave him their half-condolences, uncertain of how he felt about her. He didn’t know how he felt, but it seemed like some kind of bad luck to lose both his parents and his birth mother in the space of a year. Barrett must have been born under an unlucky star. 

Declan was waiting for him to speak but Barrett knew better. He recognized that twitch of his shoulders as easily as if it had been his own. Declan wanted to fight. Probably had come here for exactly that purpose. 

Carefully, Barrett said, “I did hear. I’m sorry for it. She was still so young.” 

“They don’t care,” Declan said bitterly. “The doctors, I mean. Never tried to save her or anything. And you didn’t visit when she was laid up dying.” 

Barrett sighed. “Sandy and I never had much of a relationship.”

“You should pay respects even if you don’t care,” Declan said, his grief rolling off him like a heavy wave. 

Not much to be said about that. Barrett motioned for Declan to come inside the house. No need to hash out their family business, such as it was, on the porch for the world to see. Not, of course, that there was anyone out there — the nearest neighbor was out behind the old cemetery, fields away. Far away enough to deaden the sound. 

The AC was working overtime to cool the main level of Barrett’s house, and everything faintly hummed because of it. Nothing really looked good — he’d been deep in renovations trying to get the place into the latter half of the 20th century. Everything was covered by dust cloth. 

Lily, when she’d come down, had expressed surprise and not a little horror at the fact that he was able to live there. But Barrett had missed the place when he’d gone away. And now it was the only place where his parents’ spirits seemed to linger. 

Barrett showed him to the parlor, where Declan sat, without much grace, on Aunt Adela’s antique settle with Irish doilies — souvenirs from the time his grandmother had gone to Dublin, the summer before she’d gotten married.

Declan took it all in with a mixture of curiosity and idle ill-will. He was a boy of about nineteen, good-looking and strong. His brown skin shone with health and his hair was black, with a tendency to curl — he must’ve gotten all that from his dad, since Barrett was as pale and blond as Sandy had been. It was pretty amazing to be related to a junior Greek god, Barrett thought wryly as Rabbit thumped inside from the yard. 

Declan spotted the dog and made a soft noise as she came over to him. He stroked her shiny brown fur, smiling all the while. Rabbit was a charming mutt that Barrett had inherited along with the house — his parents had gotten her when he’d been at college. She was an absolute failure of a guard dog, since she was flopping over to show Declan her belly right away, no waiting. Barrett watched his half-brother play with the dog for a moment before he snapped out of it, remembering his duties as a host. 

“You want something to drink? Eat? I was about to order dinner.”

Declan’s face, which had been so open and delighted as he played with Rabbit, closed like a fist. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s nothing. I got bottled water and Coke, what’ll you have?”

“Beer, if you have it,” said Declan boldly. 

Barrett laughed briefly and shook his head. “You’re underaged, kid.” 

“Nineteen isn’t a kid. And they’re right saying the city changed you, if you think I can’t drink,” Declan said smugly. 

Barrett rolled his eyes. 

“Maybe I just don’t want to share my beer with you,” he said, turning back. He grabbed a flyer from the fridge and began to dial the number for the only pizza place that would deliver out here. Declan followed him into the kitchen cautiously, followed in by Rabbit, who was clearly and deeply in love with him. 

Barrett tried not to mind it. 

“Just take something,” he told Declan as he was put on hold. “We’ll eat and talk later.” 

*

It was strange how quickly night fell around here. In the summers, the light would last deep into the evenings, but once it was gone, it was gone. They ended up drinking and sitting out on the poarch, watching the fireflies flickering in the dark. 

“You got some place to stay after the funeral?” Barrett said between sips of his beer. 

Declan shook his head. “I got Mom’s car to work and moved my stuff in there. I’m going to stay at a friend’s place in Gainesville soon. Get a job in construction, maybe.” 

“You graduated, didn’t you?” Barrett asked. 

Declan sneered at him. “Yeah. Fat lot of good it did me.” 

“Well, all right,” Barrett said. “Look, I know you’re going to say I’m a terrible brother to you, and you’d be right. But if you want, you can stay here for a while. Until you get on your feet. Lily won't be moving in until after she’s done with her residency, if she ever does.” 

The look Declan gave him was cool and assessing and made him look older than he was. He took a swig of his beer and asked, “Who’s Lily?” 

“My girlfriend,” Barrett said. Then, feeling a strange flush of guilt, he clarified. “My fiancée.”


	2. House Proud

Declan’s car — a beat-up red Corvette that had once belonged to Sandy’s father — was parked out on the dirt road that pulled off from the highway to Bell Union. “Why’d you park all the way up there?” Barrett asked as they walked over to it. “Didn’t want to be seen when you visited?” 

Declan winced. “Some people get weird about where you park. I don’t know if you’re one of them.” 

“Leave it in front of the house,” Barrett said, and paused in front of the car. He had a sudden memory of seeing it when he was very young. When he reached in and touched the worn leather of the side seat, the conviction didn’t leave him. It didn’t really make much sense. He’d had no reason to ever go anywhere with Sandy, in her car or out of it. 

Declan drove them back and parked next to Barrett’s truck. 

“What’s your plans for the house?” Declan asked, nodding to the building material covered by the tarp on the truck. “Bell Union’s pretty far out to sell to Atlanta folk.” 

“I want to keep it if I can,” Barrett said. “I needed some time off to sort through all my parents’ affairs, and Lily won’t finish with her residency this year. Usually, I go into town from Tuesday to Friday, so it’ll be useful to have you around then. Unless you throw wild parties or something?” 

Declan snorted, and took out a suitcase from the back of his car and swung it across his back. “I’m not that kind of guy.” 

“Guess I won’t be reliving my youth through you,” Barrett said with a sigh. 

Declan gave him a narrow look. “How old are you? I mean, I know, but you act like you’re seventy-five, not twenty-five.” 

“Mom always said I was an old soul,” Barrett said with a grin, though he privately thought Declan had no reason to make such a judgment on him at this point. Even if he _was_ right. 

Barrett stopped in front of the house to admire it. It was an old, white house, built in 1905, with three gabled roofs — two large and a smaller one in the middle. There was a circular porch that led to the front door, and wrapped around the front of the house. It was on this porch that Barrett had taken his first steps and made many of his happiest memories. In those memories, the house was always beautiful and well-maintained, but the truth was that his parents had already been older when they adopted him, and by the time he’d gone off to college, they hadn’t been able to keep the place up. 

It had been a shock to come back, after so much time, and see how time had worked on the wood and stone. His parents had loved this house and now they were gone, having died only a few months apart. Barrett hadn’t been able to make it to his father’s side before his death, and his mother had been practically comatose when he had come. 

The house was all that was left of them and he wanted to hold on to it.

The jessamine bush was creeping far too close to the porch and the two dogwood trees up front needed to be trimmed back.

“Are you any good at gardening?” Barrett asked Declan, who shrugged. 

“I can follow instructions all right,” he said cautiously. 

“Maybe I’ll send you over to Miss Bea’s — she’d whip you into shape about plants and trees in no time. She used to teach horticultural extension services for the university. Still needs a hand now and then.” 

“No one’s whipping me into any kind of shape,” Declan said flatly. 

Barrett stuttered for a moment before he recovered. “I didn’t mean it in that way.” 

He opened the door and went inside the house and waited for Declan to follow him. After a moment of hesitation, Declan did. 

“I’m giving you the room with the tower. It’s the second biggest room and has a bath attached. Windows face south,” Barrett said as they walked up the stairs. It creaked under their weight, though Barrett knew which steps to avoid. “It used to be mine, but I think my mom had a crack at fixing it up after I moved out.”

“So it doesn’t smell like dirty socks and —” Declan clicked his tongue against his teeth and grinned.

“I never did that. Here,” Barrett said, flipping on the lights. Despite what he had said, the room was mostly how he had left it, seven years ago. His mother had taken down the posters and brought in her sewing table, but had otherwise left it alone. The bed Barrett had slept in was an old wrought iron thing that creaked every time one moved in it. There was a reason he’d never tried anything here. 

“It’s fancy,” Declan said dryly. 

“Yeah, very fancy for 1905,” Barrett agreed. “I’ll bring new sheets and towels to you.” 

Before he left, however, Declan called back to him. “Hey, Barry. I got a question.” 

“Nah, don’t call me Barry. What is it?” 

“Is this house haunted?” 

Barrett smiled hugely. “Oh yeah. It’s haunted as hell.” 

*

Barrett spent the next day in a flurry of activity, trying to make the old house presentable. He knew that once the word got out that Declan had moved in, people would come here to drop off their casseroles and take a look at the old place. He told Declan to go trim back the jessamine and mow the grass out front. After expressing his own dissatisfaction about the matter, Declan did it. 

It was past noon when they finally left work to have lunch and sit on the porch. 

“You’re giving the eulogy tomorrow?” Barrett said in between bites of sandwich. “Got anything to wear?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a suit for church but it doesn’t really — might just be a shirt and pants. Who gives a fuck? My mom’s dead. I’m not supposed to be thinking about these things.”

“I know, but.” Barrett shrugged. “You know people care about these things here.” 

Declan snorted sharply. “I’d say.”

Barrett looked at Declan critically, watching as a drop of sweat trekked steadily down his neck. “You’re about the same size as my dad. I haven’t packed up all his clothes. Why don’t you go up and take a look — find something that fits you? You might look good.” 

“Might?” Declan said skeptically. “Why are you acting like you’re doing me such a favor? I’m saving you a trip to Goodwill.”

“You’re such a fucking brat,” Barrett said with a rueful laugh. “I’ll come up and pack some stuff.”

*

John Logan had cut a stylish figure, back in the day. His portion of the closet was lined with suits, most of them far older than Barrett. After a few minutes of flipping through the thick nylon garment bags, he pulled out a simple black suit of excellent make. He thought it could be from the late sixties or so; when he showed it to Declan, the other remarked that it might do. 

He went off to try it on while Barrett turned his attention to the rest of the closet. It was harder working his way through his parents’ closet than it had been to sort through the rest of the house. He wondered if he should have accepted Moss’ offer to get his sister to set up an estate sale. But the thought of people — strangers — going through the house and picking at things didn’t bear thinking about. Lily had said she would help, at least with his mother’s things, especially in regard to jewelry and heirlooms, but she was so busy at work. 

Barrett sighed and stuck his hand randomly in the pocket of one of his father’s suits. He smiled, remembering how Dad had always kept the strangest things in his pockets and always allowed Barrett to paw through them. This time, he was rewarded with a handful of quarters and an ancient Tootsie Roll. Dad’s sweet tooth was really something, that he could stand to eat these awful things. 

Barrett chuckled and threw the candy away. 

He heard the sound of a throat clearing, and turned. Declan stood at the door, his hands in his pockets. He looked good — handsome in a way that Barrett hadn’t yet seen him. He slouched, as if he didn’t really want to commit to his image, though he straightened when he felt Barrett’s eyes on him. “What do you think?” he asked. 

“You look like you’re about to rob a casino,” Barrett said. It was the first thing that popped into his mind, and from Declan’s expression, he didn’t get it. That was fair, Barrett didn’t either. “I mean, you look good. You should keep it.” 

Declan ducked his head, abashed. “What am I going to do with a suit?” He paused, unsure. “You’re sure it’s OK?” 

“Yeah,” Barrett said. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” 

Declan straightened up and nodded. “Thank you.” There was an awkward silence before Declan blinked and took something out of the pockets and gave it to Barrett. “Oh. I found this.” 

Barrett examined it curiously. It looked like an old-fashioned safe deposit key. The bank’s name was stamped on it. It wasn’t his parents’ usual bank, but one a town over. When he’d gone through his parents’ financials with their lawyer, he didn’t remember a mention of a safe deposit box. He would have to check to see what was in it — if anything. 

“You know you fucked me up last night with the talk of ghosts,” Declan said as he stripped off his suit and put it back into the garment bag. “I woke up at every weird noise, and there’s a lot of that around here.” 

Barrett looked away. “Sorry about that — I just wanted to mess with you. There’s a reason the porch ceiling’s painted haint blue, but there isn’t really anything here. Nothing you don’t bring with you, anyway.” 

“That’s really — comforting,” Declan said sarcastically. 

“Isn’t it?” 

“No!” 


	3. Funeral Games

The church service was short — Reverend Benson only spoke for forty-five minutes, but it was a stifling forty-five minutes, and Barrett didn’t think he spoke one word that would’ve been specific to Sandy. Or at least, nothing complimentary, though the old man did weigh heavily on the wages of sin. Declan, sitting beside him, twitched at that. Barrett put a restraining hand on his arm, but he didn’t have to — Declan was still and unhappy.

Once they got out, it was only a four-minute walk across the road to Minchin’s Funeral Home. A pretty young woman appeared from nowhere and whisked Declan off. Barrett fell into the very curious clutches of town historians, Miss Fanshaw and Miss Sherol. 

“I heard your brother’s looking at cremation,” said Miss Fanshaw, whose first name was Millicent, though no one had called her Miss Millie in forty years. She was a small and fragile old woman, bone-white and with sharp grey eyes. She rarely missed anything. “I guess his momma burning for all eternity doesn’t seem to bother him.”

“Now Miss Fanshaw, I can’t let you say that,” Barrett said, trying to be stern. From the look she gave him, he failed. “Sandy wanted to be cremated. She made the arrangements before she passed. Declan’s only carrying out her wishes.” 

“Sandy Hyatt always thought she knew best,” Miss Fanshaw said with a frown. She gave Barrett a withering look. “Looks like she passed that down to the two of you.” 

Barrett badly wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew that if he did so, he’d be further condemned in Miss Fanshaw’s eyes. The Fanshaws had been one of the most prominent families in the area for centuries, and in Miss Fanshaw’s youth, she’d been the belle of every possible ball. But eventually, the family had lost their wealth and Miss Fanshaw had to find a career for herself at the county historical society. Perhaps it was this love of history that made her interest in local gossip so sharp and rapacious — it was all future history, anyway. 

“Millie, you said you wouldn’t interfere,” said Miss Sherol, who had been studiously quiet until then. She was a comfortable-looking black woman, a decade or so younger than Miss Fanshaw. She had been the principal of the girls' school before it merged with the public high school. It was still unknown why someone as sweet and kindly as Miss Sherol should spend so much time with the sharp-tongued Miss Fanshaw. 

Miss Sherol reached out and patted Barrett’s arm. “I’m sure Sandy appreciates Barrett taking Declan in. Shows a lot of family feeling, doesn’t it?”

Barrett smiled awkwardly. Of course it had gotten out within two days. Small town gossip moved at the speed of light. “I’m glad to have him. He’s a great guy.”

“A wild boy, more like,” Miss Fanshaw said with a snort. “You be careful with all those pretty things your momma liked to collect, all right?” 

However, Barrett was spared needing to reply to that by the arrival of his best friend, Cliff Moss, and his sister, Marylee. He excused himself from Miss Fanshaw and Miss Sherol, and jogged over to them. 

“My God, you look as pale as a corpse,” Moss said with a laugh. “You know, you could’ve made your excuses a lot sooner. Otherwise Old Fanny would keep her claws in you for a long time.” 

Marylee tutted in disapproval. “Don’t call her that, Cliff! What would mom say?” 

“Mom never liked that old bat,” Cliff said cheerfully. “Not since she spread that rumor that Daddy ran off with a showgirl.”

“Well, he did,” Marylee said with a wry smile. “It’s just that he came back, after all. Bygones be bygones and all.” 

Cliff and Marylee were twins — they shared the same open, good-humored face, wavy dark hair and short, compact bodies. When they were very young, in preschool and kindergarten, they would switch clothes and pretend to be each other. Only their parents could tell them apart — Barrett, even though he’d known them his entire life, couldn’t have done it. Marylee and Barrett had dated briefly in high school, but it hadn’t lasted. After it was all over, Barrett had confessed to Moss that it had been like dating his own sister. Moss had found that hilarious — but he had an expansive sense of humor. 

The twins each took Barrett’s arms and led him to the funeral home, filling him in on all that he’d missed, being buried up to his neck in home renovations. Moss had studied chemical engineering at Georgia Tech, and lived closer to the city — he’d come in for the day to attend the funeral and visit with Barrett. Marylee’s husband, Curt, was a police officer. He was on duty today, or he’d be here too, Marylee said. Barrett smiled but he was glad of Curt’s absence. He loved Marylee, but he could never be comfortable around her husband.

Marylee herself was facing some setbacks. She had spent the last few months trying to convince Coleridge Rochefort to let her join his antique dealing concern. 

“It makes me so mad,” she vented. “I know he knows I’m the best person for the job, but he just won’t give me the time of day. Barrett, you’re his godson, can’t you—”

“You know what you got to do, Lee,” Cliff said. “Start your own business and run him to the ground. I know you can do it.” 

“Roche never took advice from me in his life. But I know you can persuade him. I have every confidence in you,” Barrett echoed him. 

They had walked into the large, echoing Classical Revival home that housed Minchin’s Funeral Home. A somber-looking employee escorted them to the reposing room where Sandy lay in state. It would be a shame to continue talking business now. They all lapsed into silence. 

There were more people at Sandy’s funeral than Barrett could’ve predicted. A lot of them were friends of Declan’s, along with their parents, but there were also people that Barrett had to guess were from Sandy’s high school class or even younger. They were all milling around, some getting in line to see the body, others more interested in seeing each other. 

Barrett had never much liked funerals. They were never really about the dead, as far as he could tell. The prospect of death was too close and too frightening to really grapple with. The ritual and structure of a funeral were all for the living. His stomach growled and he winced. He couldn’t really condemn people for what they wanted to do. After all, he wanted a funeral luncheon as much as anyone. 

“Want a mint?” Moss asked him solicitously as they got in line to see the body. 

“I want to get out of here,” Barrett said in a low voice. 

“Soon,” Marylee said soothingly. “Declan’s giving the eulogy, isn’t he? Can’t wait to hear it.” 

“You know him, Marylee?” 

“Honey, everybody knows Declan,” said Marylee. “I used to substitute teach at the high school, remember? You should hear the stuff the other teachers say. Stuff of legend.”

“I seem to remember something about a dead pig coming to life?” Moss said at Barrett’s elbow, as the line bumped along to the front. 

“What?” Barrett said, annoyed and wondering. 

“Shh,” Marylee said. They were at the casket. 

The last time Barrett had seen Sandy was maybe seven years ago, before he’d gone off to college. She’d come to his graduation party — it was also his birthday, since he was born in August — and it had been an awkward meeting. He wasn’t sure which one of his parents had invited her, or if neither of them did, but she’d come up to him in the middle of it and given him a thick manila envelope and slipped some cash into the pocket of his blazer. 

“Miss Sandy, I don’t need this,” he’d said, trying to give the money back to her, and she'd looked at him. The family resemblance between them couldn’t be denied. They had the same strong features, the same blue eyes, even the same hawkish nose. For a moment, Barrett had been speechless, looking at the woman he knew was his mother. The moment had seemed to last a long time, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds. 

She had blinked and smiled. “I know it’s not much, but you can have a nice lunch on me, Barrett. Good luck in the future.”

Then she'd left, leaving Barrett embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate. His father had taken the envelope, and examined the contents with a snort. He’d shaken his head and said if they had lived a few centuries before, Sandy Hyatt would have been accused of witchcraft, and he wasn’t quite sure that wasn’t true. 

Barrett had never quite understood what his father had meant by that. Sandy seemed quite straightforward and not witch-like at all. 

Now here she was again. Barrett didn’t want to see the resemblance between himself and the dead woman. Sandy looked more severe than she had ever looked in life. He wondered if he would look like that when he was dead. 

Both Moss and Marylee had gone to their seats, and Barrett knew there was a line of people waiting behind him. Even so, he lingered longer at her casket. 

He half-expected something to happen, for Sandy to rise up and surprise him for the last time. But she stayed where she was and how she was — still dead, still cold, and eventually, he walked away. When he took his seat next to Moss, Marylee reached over and patted his hand, giving him a sympathetic smile. There was nothing to do but wait to hear Declan’s eulogy. 

Declan looked nervous as he approached the podium. There was a sheen of sweat across his face, even though Minchin’s had gone in hard for air conditioning a few years ago, rendering their purple-iris-patterned fans obsolete. His suit still gave him the look of a lawyer at his first deposition, and he managed to pull himself together after a few deep breaths. 

“My mom always wanted to have a life of adventure,” Declan started out, looking out at the audience. “And whatever else you want to say about her, she had that. I always thought of myself as her sidekick -- she brought me along on some of her biggest journeys and I learned more from her than from anything or anyone else. 

"We went to Mexico together and across the country. Before she got sick, we were planning a trip to China. My mother believed in seeing the world as it is and how it could be. She didn’t believe in giving up or standing still. She always taught me to believe in myself, not in any kind of limits or bullshit anyone else put on us.” 

He paused and blinked rapidly, looking down. The pretty girl Barrett had seen walking with him earlier raised her fan slightly. She smiled at him encouragingly. Declan smiled back and collected himself. 

“My mother, Sandy Hyatt, loved without reservation and with her whole heart. When she found someone or something that loved her back, she’d never let them go. She was loyal, she was kind and I hate —” His voice shook but he went on. “I hate that I have to go on this next adventure alone. But I have confidence that I’ll see her again. And when I do, I want her to be proud of me.” 

And with that, Declan left the podium. The girl jumped up and followed him out, leaving the rest of the audience to absorb his words. 

“Well, he swore in his own mother’s eulogy,” Miss Fanshaw said, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“Oh hush, Millie,” said Miss Sherol. “The boy was sincerely overcome.”

*

The reception after the funeral, not surprisingly, took place at Barrett’s house. He’d jumped into his truck as soon as the funeral ended and driven back, but he was almost beaten there by the likes of Miss Fanshaw and Miss Sherol, each holding on to a casserole dish as an offering. He’d run over and unlocked the door, letting them into the foyer. 

“Good afternoon, great to see you, please go into the parlor,” he said, short of breath and sweating. “I’ll turn the AC on for you — do you want ice water or sweet tea?”

Miss Sherol patted his cheek and told him that they would take it from here. More people arrived — Moss and Marylee came in with a wave and went directly into the kitchen to help set things up — and Barrett resigned himself to an afternoon fending off sympathetic neighbors. 

He looked around to see if Rabbit had turned up, but the dog had her own schedule to follow and wasn’t around. Barrett sighed. It felt sort of badthat his own nominal dog wasn’t very committed to him, but he could deal with that later.

Miss Bea came in then with a stunning array of flowers — white drifts of lilies and deep purple irises, held together by rough twine. 

“I didn’t know what to do with them!” she declared. “I couldn’t leave them by poor Sandy’s grave — she’s not going to have one!”

“I can get a vase, Miss Bea,” said Marylee. “We can enjoy them and think of Miss Sandy.” 

That crisis averted, Barrett retreated. He wondered what had happened to Declan. His half-brother was nowhere to be seen. Barrett didn’t mind it. Not exactly. Of them all, it was Declan who had gone through the most. If he wanted to blow off steam with his girlfriend, he should. Barrett hoped that they would come back sooner than later and he could at least know the girl’s name. 

“Barrett, good to see you,” said a low baritone voice at the door. Barrett looked over to see his parents’ friend and the source of Marylee’s career angst, Coleridge Rochefort — everyone called him Roche — standing by the door. Momma had always called Roche _saturnine_ , but she always refused to explain what she meant. Roche wasn’t exactly _handsome_ , but he was almost preternaturally self-possessed, which was almost as good. 

“Roche! I didn’t know you were in town,” Barrett said, going over to him and trying to shake his hand, but Roche pulled him in for a firm hug. It was just as well — Barrett had known Roche since he was young. Until he got into high school, he'd called him Uncle Rocky — which Roche no doubt loved. Roche had been the one to give Barrett his first taste of whiskey — at the very same birthday and graduation party that Sandy Hyatt had come to. That night, Roche had told him that he considered Barrett his equal, that they could talk to each other about anything they wanted to, man to man. 

Barrett had been flustered and amazed — and standing there, newly turned eighteen and clutching his whiskey tumbler hard, almost hard enough for it to crack, he hadn’t felt even close to being a man. But somehow, he really — truly — wanted to be. 

The morning afterward, Barrett had suffered from the worst hangover of his life and had to deal with both of his parents being upset at him. But Roche had sent him a gift — an antique silver flask with Barrett’s initials on it — which Barrett kept to this day.

Roche was old, old money. His family could trace their lineage back to colonial Virginia, and England and France before that. The plantation his family had owned outside Bell Union, called Halcyon, had mysteriously burned down at the end of the Civil War. All attempts to rebuild it had been met with misfortune. People said the old place was cursed. As it was, Roche lived in a cute little bungalow in Bell Union itself — or he sometimes did. Mostly, he moved around the eastern seaboard, collecting antiques from little hole-in-the-wall places and selling them at astonishing markups to wealthy clients. 

Barrett didn’t quite know how his parents had become friends with Roche — he was at least thirty years younger than they had been— but he knew why they knew him. Everyone knew Roche. He was the closest thing to a celebrity this town had. 

“I came as soon as I heard. I still feel so badly for missing John and Catherine’s funerals — I’ve been a horrible godfather to you, haven’t I?”

“You’ve done fine. I’m all right — I wasn’t too close with Sandy. It’s hitting Declan a lot harder. Ah, Declan’s her younger son —” 

“I know who Declan is,” Roche told him. Barrett shook his head in wonderment. 

“Everyone seems to! I didn’t realize I was related to the town celebrity — besides you, I mean.”

“Speak of the Devil,” Roche murmured as Declan and his girlfriend walked in. The girl was slim and had a striking, beautiful face. Her hair was natural, brown tinged with auburn. Her eyes, when they met Barrett’s, were the color of amber. Barrett was almost speechless when he came and grasped her hand.

“I had no idea that Declan was seeing an angel at this time,” he gushed. The girl laughed out loud. It was a nice laugh — rich and kind. 

“Christ, don’t drool over her,” Declan said, annoyed. “This is my best friend, Elisha Coleridge. Lis, this is Barrett, my half-brother. He owns this place.”

Elisha nodded. “I’ve always wanted to get a look inside here. It’s a beautiful house.”

“You could’ve always stopped by,” Barrett blurted out. “Anyway, you’re welcome here anytime. Honestly, I’m relieved that Declan here has friends.”

“Shut up,” Declan muttered sullenly. “I have friends.”

“Declan’s always been a great friend, especially when you needed it,” Elisha said confidently. “He never let an injustice go by.” 

“Whatever,” Declan said, “just talk about the house, will you? Barrett loves talking about the house.”

“Okay, tell me about the house,” Elisha said. “When was it built? After the war, right?”

“Absolutely. 1905 Classical Revival. Built by Raymond Logan, who made his money in stocks— there was an older house on the property, but you can only see the fireplace for it now. The Logans lost it all in the crash in 1929, which is when my dad was born. But they managed to keep the house — it’s never left the family. Until now, I guess. If I don’t count.”

“Why wouldn’t you count?” said Roche, who had hung back during the introduction and emerged now. He put a hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “I’ve heard about you, Miss Coleridge. I’m Roche. Congratulations on your acceptance to — what was it?” 

“Princeton,” Elisha said with a tight smile. “And of course I know you, Mr. Rochefort. After all, your family owned mine not that long ago.”

“And that’s how this party starts,” Declan with obvious pride in his friend, but also really smug about it. Someone had rung the bell — more people, more casseroles. Barrett excused himself to welcome them in. 

*

“Actually, I’ve thought of this,” Roche said, a few hours later. They were sitting in the library and most of the guests had gone. The striped carcass of a coconut cake from Rich’s rested on the coffee table in front of him. Barrett was sitting next to him on the antique chaise, while Declan and Elisha were on the sofa opposite. Moss and Marylee shared the armchair next to the fireplace. The conversation, which had begun to drag, came to a stop.

Roche continued. “I’ve always wanted to track down what happened to the slave families that were still living at Halcyon before it burned. My mother was extremely interested in genealogy, but her interest only extended to white members of our family, I’m afraid. But Anthony Coleridge, my ancestor, actually was an inveterate diarist, and he was trying to get his books published when the big house burned down. So all his papers were at his publisher's during the conflagration and were spared. I can offer you a look at Anthony’s papers, Miss Coleridge, to see if you can find more information about your family.”

“My great-grandmother — my father’s grandmother — was born in Halcyon. She was ten when she was freed. Maybe her histories would be interesting to you as well, Mr. Rochefort.”

“Absolutely. I’m very interested in the past. But please call me Roche,” he said, folding his hands across his knees. Elisha smiled politely and said nothing. 

Barrett heard a familiar thump at the door and got up to let Rabbit in from the front door. He frowned down at the dog. “Where have you been, miss?”

Rabbit wuffed loudly and followed him to the mud room, where he cleaned her off. He heard a noise from the door and glanced up to see Declan looking down at him, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“You let this dog wander the countryside all day?” Declan said. “For shame, Barrett.”

“Can’t be tamed, this dog. And she’s got fans all over the neighborhood,” Barrett said, standing up. Rabbit went over to Declan and got her pats, before she got started on her dinner. 

Barrett gestured over to the library. “Are they still talking? It’s like the Clash of the Titans in there. I’m not qualified to contribute to the conversation.”

“You don’t have to shoot your shot, cowboy. Just listen to Lissie and not that asshole.”

“I’ve known Roche my entire life,” Barrett said. “He gave me my first cigarette, my first whiskey, you know?”

Declan looked at him, pained. “That’s not a recommendation, is it?”

“Well, when you say it that way, no.” 

Barrett gave him a sideways look. Declan looked older, wearier than he had before. But that was to be expected. It wasn’t every day that a man buried his mother. 

“Speaking of Elisha, you two make a handsome couple. Is she staying over?”

Declan opened his mouth and closed it again. 

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend. Her momma wanted to see her before school started again, but she’s going back to school in a day or two.”

“She can stay over, if she wants,” Barrett said with a smile. “Honestly, I don’t mind it.” 

“Stop it,” Declan said. “No one’s gonna sleep in your precious house without your say-so. I don’t care, it doesn’t bother me.”

“This is your home too, for the time being. You can bring people home.”

“We’ll see,” was Declan’s moody answer. 

By the time they and Rabbit came back to the library, their guests were getting ready to go. Marylee hugged Barrett tight and made him promise that he’d come over for Sunday dinner some time. “You too, Declan. I want to hear your stories about school.”

“I don’t have much to tell,” Declan said with all apparent innocence. Marylee laughed. Moss was next. He gave Barrett a slug on the shoulder.

“I miss you, bud,” he confessed. “I want us to go fishing some time.” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Barrett said, following the twins out to the porch. They drove off with some final farewells. 

Roche was waiting on the porch, sitting on the old rocking chair that had been Grandma Charlotte’s favorite. Rabbit, who had been underfoot the whole time, shied away from his beckoning hand. 

“Sometimes animals have better instincts than people,” Declan said, leaning against a post. 

“Most dogs adore me,” Roche said lightly. “Purebreds, mostly.”

“What a thing to brag about,” Declan said curtly. He turned back to Barrett. “I’m going to drop Lissie off. I’ll be back before midnight.”

“Take your time,” Barrett told him and smiled at Elisha, who had come back from washing her hands. “It was lovely to meet you, Elisha. I hope we get to see each other a few more times before you go.”

“I hope so too,” she said with a smile. Declan rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t be fooled by those pretty blue eyes, Lis. Barrett’s taken.”

“Yeah, I’m engaged,” Barrett said. “Not that I was trying anything. Lily’s more than I could ever want from anyone.”

Elisha shrugged and said her goodbyes. Declan left with one last glower at Roche. 

Roche came and stood beside Barrett, watching them go. “I must apologize, Barrett. I don’t think your brother likes me very much.”

“He’s a kid,” Barrett said. “They can turn on a dime. I’m glad you came, Roche. I was happy to see you.”

“Still, I wasted time talking about Halcyon and all that. I should have told you about Sandy. I didn’t know her well, of course, but we were young people together.”

Barrett frowned. “You didn’t go to school together, did you? I mean, I assume Sandy went to Bell Union High School. And you went to that Yankee boarding school, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Roche said, leaning in. “They gave me a hell of a time thanks to my accent, in those days. I clung to it harder out of stubbornness. Now everyone loves hearing me talk. Whirligig of time, eh?”

“But you knew Sandy — during the summers?”

Roche nodded. There was a faraway look in his charcoal grey eyes. “She was gorgeous back then. A beauty queen from the wrong side of the tracks, but so smart you couldn’t say a thing to her.” 

Roche lost that faraway look and focused his gaze on Barrett. “You know, if you listen to the town gossip, they’ll say I was your father. But Barrett, let me tell you that’s impossible — even though anyone would be delighted to have you as a son, of course.”

“I never thought that was likely,” Barrett said awkwardly. “And I never wondered who my biological father was. Dad and Mom were more than enough for me.”

Roche clasped Barrett’s shoulder. “You’re a good boy. A dream. We have to have whiskey together again, don’t we?”

“Yes, when you’re back in town,” Barrett said. Roche agreed and headed off into the night. Barrett watched the lights of his BMW disappear and sighed. He didn’t know why the thought of having a whiskey with Roche brought such a sense of dread over him, but it must’ve been the day — it had been over-long and exhausting. He’d learned too much about everyone and he was tired.

And being with Roche could be exhausting too. Barrett was always conscious of wanting to be good enough for Roche. He would hate it if he wasn’t.

Rabbit wandered over to him and pawed at his pants, whining. Barrett looked down. “Declan’s coming back, don’t worry about him.”

Barrett cleaned up — mostly he tried to fit all the casserole dishes and snacks everyone had brought into the fridge. It was like a more annoying version of Tetris, trying to wedge the scrupulously plastic-wrapped delicacies into his not very large fridge, but after fifteen minutes of struggle, he did it.

He thought he heard the front door open. He called Declan but didn’t hear back. When he came to the door, he saw that it was locked and bolted. No one had come in. With a shrug, Barrett went to the parlor to pick up the rest of the used cups and saucers.

But he was more tired than he'd thought — he sat on the most comfortable chair and fell quickly asleep. 

It was past midnight when he woke to the sound of footsteps. Through his grogginess, he thought he saw a dark figure approach him. “Declan?”

The figure stopped. Barrett reached and flipped on the light. Before him stood the short, stocky figure of Miss Sherol, blinking at him owlishly. 

“Miss Sherol?” Barrett said, bewildered. “What are you doing here?” 

“I fell asleep, honey,” she said. “In your back room. And when I woke up, there wasn’t anybody in the house. Can you believe Millie just left me here?”

“She probably thought you went back with Miss Bea,” Barrett said, getting up from the chair. His body felt cramped and his back hurt. He didn’t want Miss Sherol to know how much she had frightened him. “Do you want some dinner before I take you home?”

“I’m not hungry,” Miss Sherol said as she followed him into the kitchen. She looked around and sighed. “Oh, I love this place. I used to fix dresses on the side, you know. Some days I’d come here and fix Miss Adela’s dresses for her, before she got married.”

Barrett looked back. “Were you two friends?”

Miss Sherol laughed. “Your Great Aunt Adela wouldn't be friends with a black woman, sweetie.”

“I’m sorry,” Barrett said. “Stupid of me. Racist of her.”

“Young people don’t need to understand these kinds of things, though it’s probably better if they do,” Miss Sherol said.

Barrett yawned. “Do you mind me making some coffee before we go?”

“I’d like that,” Miss Sherol said. 

A peaceful feeling descended upon them, as Barrett made the coffee. As always, the pot made trouble for him. He didn’t know why he didn’t throw it out and get a newer model.

He thought he heard the sound of a car heading down the road and supposed it was Declan coming back.

“Do you take cream with your coffee, Miss Sherol? Sugar?” he asked, opening the fridge door. 

“A splash. I don’t take it with sugar anymore. Doctor told me I’m pre-diabetic. Millie never takes sugar anyway.”

Barrett grabbed the cream and closed the door. “You and Miss Fanshaw — you’re really good friends.”

Miss Sherol laughed. “You can say that. I think I just keep her out of trouble. Speaking of trouble, I saw Mr. Roche around here. You don’t need to — you know — keep him company just because your parents did.”

“Oh? You got some gossip about him?” Barrett said. The coffee maker dinged. His pot was ready. He poured out a cup for both him and Miss Sherol and took a seat. 

Miss Sherol seemed to consider her options. “Not as such. He’s a pretty fussy man. Maybe you know that’s what he’s like, maybe you don’t.”

The front door opened and Declan came in. He peeked into the kitchen. If he was surprised to see them, he didn’t let on. Declan looked like he’d gone through a lot in the hours he’d been gone. His jacket was off, swung over his shoulder and his tie was loose. His hair was mussed and he looked like he could use a shave. 

“Late night?” he said, raising a brow. 

“Same for you,” Barrett said. “I’m going to drop Miss Sherol off home. Do you want to come?”

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with me,” Miss Sherol said, standing up. Both brothers moved toward her and stopped suddenly. 

“I’ll go with you — neither of you seem ready to drive,” Declan declared.

“Don’t be stupid, you just got home,” Barrett said, scowling. “I’ll drive.”

Declan rolled his eyes. Miss Sherol said she could call her grandniece, Lena, to take her home, but Barrett wouldn’t hear of it. Eventually, all of them went out, with Barrett driving. He pointed out that he hadn’t been drinking that night, and that seemed to settle it.

They dropped Miss Sherol outside the blue and white bungalow she shared with Miss Fanshaw. Immediately, the lights went on. They waited until Miss Sherol got to her porch and motioned to them to wait for a moment. She went inside and came back with a pair of gardening scissors. She snipped a handful of white roses from her arbor and handed them to Declan, sitting on the passenger seat.

“Thank you very much, boys,” she said with a certain sparkle in her eyes. Barrett wished her a good morning and thought Miss Fanshaw really was going to get the freshest gossip that morning. 

Barrett drove three blocks before the tiredness hit and he pulled over. “Hey,” he said, reaching out and slapping Declan’s chest. “You have to take over. I’m beat.”

Declan looked nervous. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Barrett said, getting out of the car. Declan did the same, going over to the driver’s side. Once Barrett got into the passenger seat, he dug into the glove box until he found his flask. Wincing, he took a swallow. He felt Declan’s eyes on him. 

“So you got some flaws, huh,” he said softly. 

Barrett laughed. To his own ears, he sounded bitter and tired. 

“Of course I do.” 

He didn’t pay attention to the rest of the ride. Once the car rolled to a stop, he hopped out and stumbled. He kept hold of the roses, despite everything. The soft thorns against the palms of his hands felt more real than anything else around him. 

“Hey,” Declan said, following him. “Let me take you up.”

“I don’t need your help,” Barrett said, reaching the front door. He felt around for his keys before he remembered that the house and car keys were together. He had to wait for Declan to open it, which didn’t help his temper. 

As soon as the door opened, Barrett lurched inside. He stumbled into Declan going in and pushed himself away. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” he said. “It’s been such a long day. So many long days.”

Declan took him by the shoulder and shook him gently. “Come on, go to bed. I don’t want to see you like this.”

Barrett jerked back and snorted sharply. “See me like what? It’s not like you know me. You think you can barge in here and demand to be my brother and I’ll just — Why the hell was I the one to have a funeral reception for Sandy Hyatt? You’re her son. The one she wanted, anyway.” 

“Hey, fuck off,” Declan said in a low voice. “I didn’t ask you to do this.” 

“Why do you get to go off and get fucked? My parents died too and I had to be responsible. No one cared how I was doing.”

“Are you seriously comparing yourself to me? For fuck’s sake.” Declan pushed Barrett against the door. Barrett scowled and tried to wriggle away, but Declan was stronger than he was — and not as exhausted. 

“You,” Declan said, his face twisting in disgust. “You were the golden boy of this fucking stupid town and you didn’t even care. You left and they still talked about you. Oh, Barrett’s so smart, he’s so sweet. He fucked off to California and he’s never coming back.” 

“I came back,” Barrett spat out. “ I had to.” 

“Because you couldn’t make it in California,” Declan said. “You were a nobody there. Here, you’re somebody, even if that somebody is some fucking asshole who resents even a little bit of responsibility anyone gives him. You think my life is easy? That I can go out and get fucked, like you say? You asshole. I’m mixed and gay and I live in a small town in the South. You really think you have it worse than me?”

Barrett felt like the floor had fallen out from under him. He stared at Declan helplessly. He had absolutely fucked this entire thing over. Words were inadequate to describe how badly he’d fucked up. He could only manage — “Shit.”

“Throw me out,” Declan said, letting him go. Barrett stayed leaning against the door. 

“What? No.”

“Don’t fucking pity me. Throw me out.” 

“I’m not going to,” Barrett said. Unsteadily, he moved towards the staircase. He gripped the handrail and pulled himself up. When he was half-way up the stairs, he stopped and looked back at Declan. 

Tiredly and awkwardly, he said, “We can talk about this later, if you want. But I’m not throwing you out. We’ll — talk.”

He staggered upstairs and fell into bed. But he couldn’t sleep for a long time. Instead, he listened to the sounds of the house, and of Declan. When he heard the creaky stair and then the sound of a door closing, Barrett finally drifted off.


	4. Lily-of-the-Valley

Barrett woke up to the scent of lily of the valley. It was one of his mother’s favorite scents, but he couldn’t understand where it was coming from. Puzzled, he lifted his head, only to see his mother patiently knitting something in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. 

“Now don’t get excited, Barrett,” Catherine said. “You’re still dreaming.”

“Mom,” Barrett said, getting up from bed. He noticed vaguely he was back in his old room, which looked like it had when he had left it for the first time. Only the rocking chair was new, and it looked odd in between a Depeche Mode poster and his old football equipment. 

She reached out and patted his chest. “You have a good heart, honey. But you always did want it your way.”

“Am I just cursed to be a selfish asshole, then? Forever.” 

She looked at him, and for the first time, he could see her fully. That humorous mouth, bracketed by lines. Her brown eyes, softened with love. She’d looked so different, the last time he’d seen her, shrunk down in her hospital bed. In so much pain. 

“We can always change who we are, Barrett,” she said gravely. “We’re changing every second of every day.”

“That’s right,” Barrett said, and woke up.

He was surprised to see Rabbit sleeping at the foot of his bed — the dog had taken to sleeping in Declan’s bed lately. No loyalty in her bones. But as Barrett listened for activity, he couldn’t hear anything. The house was empty. When he peeped outside, the Corvette was gone. 

Maybe it was for the best, Barrett thought, trying to crush the twist of guilt that threatened to take over his mind. Declan was his own man, such as it was. If he didn’t want to stick around, there was certainly nothing Barrett could do to bring him back. 

Except apologize. 

“I can’t apologize if he’s gone,” Barrett said aloud. Rabbit huffed aloud and lifted her head to look at him. 

“All right, Rabbit,” Barrett said. “You and I are going for a walk. After breakfast.” 

July had quickly turned into August, and that meant that the heat lay thickly in the air and there wasn’t a breath of wind to be felt anywhere. Barrett sighed and let Rabbit take the lead. He was expecting the Trane rep in town to call him at noon to say that his new water heater was in — once it was, he’d have the HVAC guys in and then the plumbers. Life was going to move on no matter what. 

But right now, he was free to follow a dog deeper into the woods. The land around the house had belonged to the Logans for a long time, but they hadn’t farmed on it since Barrett’s father was a teen. Most of it had fallen back into woodlands, though the trees were a mix of oaks and scrubby pines. Not useful for much, except cover from the highway that came close to the access road to the house. 

They walked past the old family cemetery — belonging to the Wallaces, who’d owned the land before the Logans. Nothing of them still existed — their house was long gone, with only outlines of the massive fireplace and bits of the cellar still evident in the ruins — and their family wasn’t on any county register. His mother had checked, after one summer when the rains had been so heavy that one of the coffins had washed out and dumped its sad contents across the lawn. 

Barrett looked over and counted the tiny little gravestones dedicated to the Wallace children. The dates carved on them never went higher than a year. There were five of them. 

Barrett checked his watch. It was coming close to noon. He had to get back. He called Rabbit, who had been investigating something behind old Henry Wallace’s gravestone (died 1878), and the dog bounded back to him. Not a drop of energy burned, apparently.

By the time they got back to the house, Declan’s car was parked out front. When Barrett walked into the kitchen, he saw Declan was sitting at the table, eating cereal.

“I got a job,” Declan said. “I’ll be paying rent as soon as I get paid.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Barrett began to say. Declan scowled and the phone rang. It was the Trane rep, and the day’s work started.

After Barrett got off the phone, he readied his own bowl of milk and cereal for lunch and asked Declan where he would be working.

“Cecil’s. Bartender quit.”

“They would hire you?” Barrett said skeptically. Declan glared at him. 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing, just — you’re not even twenty-one.” 

“They don’t care about carding there,” Declan said dismissively. He narrowed his eyes. “Bet you’ve never been.”

Barrett, who had been leaning against the counter, straightened up and coughed. “Moss and I’ve been there a few times — the summers between college, mostly.”

“What did the two straightest boys in Georgia do at Cecil’s?” Declan asked with a smirk.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Barrett replied shortly. “When do you start?”

“Saturday,” Declan replied. 

“I’ll go see you sometimes.”

“I’ll get the bouncer to throw you out,” Declan said and Barrett laughed. 

*

The key for the safe deposit box was still sitting in Barrett’s back pocket when he drove to the next town over, to take a look at some clawfoot tubs that he hoped to change for the blocky sixties tub in the master bath.

He spent the afternoon looking at some salvaged parts and picked one that seemed to be in the best shape. He and the dealer agreed to have it delivered next week. 

Driving back, he stopped over at the bank. It was a beautiful old building, mellow brick and columns everywhere, but it had clearly seen better days. 

When Barrett climbed the steps and got to the door, he saw a sign posted on the front. “Branch Closing — Please Inquire Within for More Information.”

Inside, the air was cool and faintly musty. Barrett’s footsteps echoed across the marble floor. He didn’t have to wait long for the teller — he was the only one in line. 

When the teller saw the key, her eyes lit up. “That’s one of our older boxes. I’ve never seen it.” She called over the bank manager, who took out a big, yellowing ledger to consult with. Barrett took out a much folded copy of his father’s death certificate and his own driver’s license. 

“I don’t know if my father’s attorney knew about this box, I was just curious if it was still active. If it is, I’ll call him to take a look at it. Was it sealed after my father’s death?”

Barrett stopped, abashed. He had been rambling. The bank manager was waiting to speak. 

The man reached out and tapped Barrett’s driver’s license. “You won’t need to call the lawyer. You’re listed as a co-lessor of the account. Added four years ago.”

“Yeah?” Barrett said, puzzled. He remembered that he’d come home for Christmas that year and his parents had had a few papers for him to sign — they had said it had to do with his inheritance, but he hadn’t remembered signing on for this. If his suspicions were true, he was discomfited. This was underhanded, something he didn’t think his father was — in personal matters, anyway.

The bank manager nodded. “You came just in time, young man. We’d have to really track you down otherwise. Come along.”

Barrett followed him behind the counter and through the back door and down the stairs to the vault. He waited as the manager opened the vault. The door was circular, and the steel several inches thick. It was like a scene in a heist movie, except Barrett had no idea what to expect.

The key — which Barrett had relinquished to the manager — was for one of the smaller boxes, located on the south side of the wall. Barrett allowed himself a brief moment of disappointment. So no copious amounts of bullion or jewels for him, it seemed. 

The bank manager opened the box and handed him back the key. “Everyone is advised to clear out their boxes at the end of the year, so if you’re ready to relinquish the box, Mr. Logan, I would be glad to assist you.”

“Thank you,” Barrett said as he looked into the box.

Inside, there was a ring box and leather portfolio. Barrett opened up the ring box and found in it his father’s wedding ring, which came as no surprise. He’d never seen his father wear it. It seemed as pristine as it must’ve been on his parents’ wedding day in 1954.

The portfolio contained several documents and a slim, wire-bound notebook. One of the documents was a birth certificate. It was _his_ birth certificate - listing his name, the time and date of his birth, his weight, and his mother and father — Alexandra Hyatt, age 17, and John Logan, Esq, 45.

*

The bank let him take away the contents of his father’s safe deposit box in an old banker’s box. Barrett put the box in the passenger seat and tried not to think about it for the rest of his trip. He failed. His mind kept trying to make sense of the certificate.

He _had_ a birth certificate — it had been reissued when he had been adopted, six months after his birth. It listed his parents as John and Catherine Logan. That had been his reality for twenty-five years. But now this piece of paper had blown up all his certainties.

One thing was sure, however. 

Sandy Hyatt had to have been sixteen when she became pregnant with him. She had been seventeen when she had given birth. If his father — John Logan, a man Barrett had always loved and admired — was truly his _birth_ father, then the reason for that had to be unforgivable in so many ways.

Had his mother known? His parents had seemingly shared every single detail of their lives with each other. Would his father have been able to keep the biggest secret of them all?

In his distraction, Barrett didn’t see the car heading for him until it was too late. A second after the impact, with the blaring of the car horn and the tinkle of broken glass, Barrett thought he smelled the unmistakable scent of lily of the valley.


	5. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett and Declan have a heart-to-heart, Lily calls in.

When Barrett regained consciousness, he was still in his truck. There was a terrible ringing in his ears as he got out. The other car had driven off after hitting him. He was still dizzy, but there was a cafe down the road and he walked to it. There was dead silence as he entered and approached the counter. 

He asked the waitress to call the police. 

“Honey, you need an ambulance,” she said, shoving a basket of napkins in his direction. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”

Barrett touched his temple. His fingers came away wet. 

“Sorry for the mess,” he said, before fainting.

*

“Head wounds bleed a lot, but you’re pretty lucky,” said the nurse a few hours later after Barrett had been stitched up. “You got banged up, but nothing’s broken. Pay attention in the next few days for signs of concussion — call Dr. Howard’s office if you have any problems.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Barrett said gratefully. His head still ached, but he had so much to do. His truck was possibly totaled and had been towed over to the nearest auto repair shop. The police hadn’t been able to track down who had hit him yet, and the insurance adjuster would probably come down later that week. 

Meanwhile, Barrett had to figure out how to get home. He couldn’t call a cab; there was no such service out here since Titus Roy had retired. Maybe Barrett could get Moss to come out, if he hadn’t returned to the city. Marylee would be busy with her kids and her husband, on a Monday afternoon… 

Hell, maybe he could ask a favor from Roche? Somehow he hated to bother him, even though Barrett was fairly certain Roche wouldn’t refuse him. 

Barrett felt lost for a moment. He’d always operated under the assumption that he had a network of people he could depend on, but now he could think of no one that would drop everything and come for him. 

While he was signing his release papers, Barrett heard a now-familiar voice behind him, saying his name. He turned and saw Declan coming toward him and didn’t think. He stepped quickly in front of him and got a hold of Declan and gave him a tight hug. “Thank you for coming — but why are you here?”

“They called the house when you got admitted to the hospital. Said you didn’t have another next of kin,” Declan said. There was a flush on his cheeks, and Barrett realized he was still holding him. He released him with an embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry to jump you like that. I’m just — glad to see you. In fact I don’t think I’ve been happier to see anyone in my life,” Barrett said. He felt his face get warm, but Declan didn’t seem like he was going to tease him about it.

“Do you want to go home?” Declan said tentatively. He had his arms around himself, as if trying to keep warm, despite the warmth of the lobby where the central air was fighting a losing battle with the constantly opening and closing automatic doors.

Barrett thought that Declan must’ve spent quite a lot of time at the hospital during Sandy’s sickness and decline. It made perfect sense that he’d be uncomfortable here. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said, but then the nurse who had seen him — a sweet-faced woman named Glinda — came by and reminded him to pick up painkillers from the pharmacy. He shot an apologetic look to Declan, who was examining his shoes with great interest.

“You’re not going to say hi to me, Declan?” said Glinda with a laugh. “I’m sorry about your mama. She was a nice lady.”

“Yeah,” Declan said shortly. “Thanks.”

His weird mood persisted as Barrett went over to pick up his medication, and he took the paper bag out of Barrett's hands once it was paid for. “Ought to be careful with these,” he said vaguely. “The doctors here prescribe them like they’re candy or something.”

“OxyContin?” Barrett said curiously, taking the bag back from Declan. “Yeah, I’m kinda allergic to it, I think. Last time I took it — high school, football — I kept throwing it up before they took me off.”

“Of course you played football,” Declan said, rolling his eyes as they approached the car. He went over and opened the side door for Barrett. “Golden boy.”

“Did you just gloss over the part where playing it fucked me up? I wasn’t even good beforehand,” Barrett said as he took his seat. 

“Then why play?”

“Because they expected me to,” Barrett replied awkwardly. He gave Declan a once-over as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Coach Carr never approached you? You actually have the build for it.”

“But not the attitude,” Declan said with a movie-star smile. Despite himself, Barrett found himself smiling back.

“Oh. Can we stop by the body shop before we get home? I need to grab some things from the truck.”

“Sure,” Declan said and they lapsed into silence. 

The box wasn’t there. The truck had been hit on the passenger side — the window was broken and the door was loose and concave. Some of the contents of the box _were_ there — Barrett pulled out the ring box from the pile of glass and found his birth certificate stuck under the seat, but the other papers and the notebook were missing. Tom, the manager, said no one had been around the car since it got in. Barrett looked around for a few more minutes, but eventually gave up. 

They must’ve been blown loose somewhere. He regretted not reading everything at the bank itself. Only God knew what other secrets his father had been hiding. 

Why had he gone through the trouble of adding Barrett as a co-lessor of the safe deposit box, but left off mention of it in his will? If Declan hadn’t found the key, Barrett wouldn’t have known about it until either the branch closed, or more likely, they contacted him about renewing the lease. 

His father had died suddenly… Maybe this was one of the things he had intended to get to before he died. Barrett would never know that now. Barrett hadn’t known his father had kept this kind of secret from him. He hadn’t thought of his father as a secretive man at all, but obviously he had been wrong. 

Would Barrett become like that when he grew old? He didn’t want to. It seemed like a lonely way to live, not being able to confide in anyone. Unless his father _had_ — Barrett sighed, leaning against his seat. If his mother had known, Barrett had no way of knowing now. She’d always treated him as she would her own son, not just her husband’s son.

Not for the first time, Barrett wished that he could talk to her again. But he couldn’t — there were so few people who would understand what he was going through. Maybe he would need to talk to Roche. Roche seemed like he would know all about this —

“Sorry about your truck,” Declan said, apropos of something. “You look pretty torn up about it.” 

“The insurance will probably take care of it,” Barrett muttered. “I do hate not having a car to get around, though. Hopefully they’ll get me a rental pretty soon.” 

Declan shot him a sideways look. “You know, you’re pretty calm about almost dying today. And having your truck fucked up. I thought you liked that thing?” 

“I liked it fine,” Barrett said. “As for almost dying, I don’t think it’s really hit me yet.”

“Gonna freak out later tonight?” Declan said.

“It’s like you know me already,” Barrett said, looking out the window at the blurry countryside. He had been tapping on the dashboard without even noticing. He stopped and decided. “Declan, can I ask you something?”

“As long as it’s not something embarrassing, sure,” Declan replied.

“What would you do if you found out you weren’t who you thought you were?” Barrett asked, trying to keep his voice light. 

“What did you find out?” Declan said.

Barrett hesitated. He didn’t know what to say now. Did he want to be the kind of man to be caught up in his secrets, like his father had been? Or did he want to admit things, even if it might come back to haunt him?

He decided to risk it. “I found my original birth certificate. It was in the safe deposit box — you know the key you found the other day? It led me to it. Turns out my dad — I mean, John Logan, he’s listed as my birth father. I don’t know why he would be, unless it was true.” 

“Oh,” said Declan, “that.”

Barrett looked at him closely. “Wait. Did you know that?”

Declan pulled off the highway to the road going to the house. “Mom mentioned it, once. I think she had come back from your graduation party. She was upset about it. I guess she thought you would remember her more — she used to take you out sometimes, when you were little. You don’t remember?”

“No,” Barrett said. “I don’t remember at all. I’m sick with the thought that my dad would — do that. Sandy was a kid and my mom — she loved him. He betrayed her and I feel like he betrayed me. And I hate that I came from that.”

“You might’ve come from it, but you aren’t that,” Declan said, frowning. “You’re not your dad, either. His sins aren’t yours.”

“Sins of the fathers, though. Shit, I used to know the passage that was from. Ezekiel, I think?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never read the Bible.” 

“ _What?_ Sandy never sent you to Sunday school?” Barrett asked, stunned.

“Nope,” Declan said as he parked the car in front of the house. He turned to look at Barrett. “Hey, do you mind waiting for dinner? I want to make something.”

“You can cook?” Barrett said, trying to get over the fact that he was related to a heathen. He got out of the car with a wince — his body hurt all over.

Declan helped him up the porch steps without comment, but Barrett waved him away as soon as they crossed the threshold of the house. 

“I had to learn how to do it. Mom worked late,” Declan said, stretching out like a big cat. Barrett, who felt like a battered gazelle, looked at him wryly. 

“Well, in that case,” Barrett said, opening the kitchen door and bowing slightly, “I’d love you to cook me something. I love it when people fuss over me.”

“I bet. You should think about going to the grocery store sometimes,” Declan advised him. “Buying something green instead of just sandwich supplies and cereal. How did you survive this long?”

“I can make do,” Barrett protested. He leaned against the kitchen door, watching Declan open up the freezer and take out a bag of frozen vegetables. “It feels weird to eat the stuff my mom bought. I don’t know.”

Declan looked up and his mouth twitched. “Well, when you put it like that — yeah, food of the dead… Hey, are you going to change?”

“Change?” Barrett replied and then looked down. His white T-shirt was liberally spotted with blood. “Shit. Tom must’ve thought I was insane.”

Declan made a noise in the back of his throat that wasn’t exactly disagreement.

Barrett took off the shirt and crossed the kitchen to go into the mud room. He found Rabbit sleeping on the braided rug in front of the washing machine. She lifted her head when he entered and let him pat her head. 

“Your best boy’s in the kitchen,” Barrett said, and he wasn’t surprised that the dog seemed to get it. She picked herself up and wandered into the kitchen to see Declan.

Barrett put the shirt into a bucket of water along with a measure of bleach and left it soaking there. Declan was cutting up something at the kitchen counter. He looked up and then down again quickly. Rabbit was shadowing his every step, clearly hoping to snatch something up if he should let it fall.

“You know, that dog has no sense of loyalty. I’ve been feeding her for six months and she jumped ship to you as soon as she got the chance.” 

“Yeah, I guess I’m just more appealing,” Declan said. His face seemed flushed, but it wasn’t that hot in the kitchen. 

Barrett shrugged at that.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, trying to see if any of the blood had gotten into his jeans. Didn’t seem much use in looking for it, he decided. He’d always preferred a darker wash.

*

Dinner proved to be deeply satisfying and homey — just chicken and rice casserole with steamed vegetables. It was probably the first home cooked meal Barrett had had in — too long. Somehow, Declan had managed to whip up a good meal with the limited options in the kitchen.

“Were you always this independent, growing up?” Barrett asked as they were eating. “I’m not criticizing, I think it’s good. As you can see, I didn’t know shit when I left home. Still really don’t.” 

“Well, yeah. I was a latchkey kid. Made my first omelet when I was six. Followed the instructions from a PBS cooking show or something.” 

Declan grinned, looking suddenly boyish. “Messed up a lot of eggs before I got good, but I did it in the end.”

“It’s a valuable skill to have,” Barrett assured him. “I mean, you could make a career of it, if you wanted. New Southern Cooking, don’t they call it? I read an article about it once.”

“Well obviously, everything I cook has got to be Southern cooking, right?” Declan said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules. The moment you get to culinary school, they’d probably tell you that’s so.” 

“Not everything you enjoy’s got to be a career,” Declan said. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

“Clever,” Barrett said. “I’ve been working at Baris & Weiss in Atlanta for two years while Lily’s at Emory. She moved out here to be with me, you know? But now we barely see each other, since dad died and mom got sick and I moved down to be with her. But she went so quickly… I couldn’t do jackshit for her, just bury her and deal with everything else. My boss gave me a leave of absence, but I think I’m basically unemployed at the moment.”

“So you were lying about working in the city, back when we first talked?” Declan said with a sly grin.

“I don’t remember,” Barrett said vaguely. “I might've been.” 

“All right, but what did you _do_ in Atlanta? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I sat in a freezing office all day and looked at the trees and made the clients feel good.” Barrett frowned. “You wouldn’t know it now, but I was kind of a boy wonder.” 

“Nah, I can see it. So you were selling yourself, basically.” Declan took a bite of his chicken and grinned, pleased with himself.

Barrett frowned at him. “Well. Everyone sells something.”

“Sure. I know.” 

“Do you?” Barrett said doubtfully. Silence settled down between them. Rabbit, who was snoozing in between Declan’s legs, yawned loudly. 

Mentally casting around for another topic of discussion, Barrett picked one that had been in the back of his mind for a while. “When did you know you were gay?”

Declan ignored him and stroked the top of Rabbit’s head until she snorted awake and released him. He stood, his plate in his hands. “I think I’m done eating.”

Barrett stood too. He put out a placating hand toward Declan. “No, wait. Listen. I’m genuinely trying to get to know you. I don’t want to be an asshole. If you think I am, tell me and I’ll shut up. Okay?”

Declan seemed to consider this. He took his plate and scraped off the leftovers into the garbage disposal and washed up. 

“All right,” he said finally. “But I reserve the right to not answer any dumbshit questions.”

“Yeah, fair,” Barrett said. He got rid of the rest of his meal and washed up too. They left the heat of the kitchen for the relative coolness of the library. Barrett got Declan a drink — a whiskey on the rocks — which seemed to surprise him. 

“Is this the nice stuff?” he said, sniffing at it suspiciously. “Have you been holding out on me?”

“Of course I have,” Barrett replied, sitting down next to him on Aunt Mabel’s fainting couch. “I can’t believe you’re working at Cecil’s now. How do you like it?”

“It’s just a bar,” Declan said, taking a bigger swallow than Barrett would personally advise. 

“Hey, pace yourself,” Barrett said softly. 

Declan licked his lips and nodded. His next sip was much more reasonable. 

“If Scot’s still running the place,” Barrett said, swirling his drink around, “it’s not just a bar.” 

“He is. And he remembers you, apparently. Called you a weird name and laughed like a loon.” 

“Yeah, that’s Scot all right,” Barrett said, smiling. 

Declan looked impatient and abruptly changed the subject. “Look, I’m not surprised that you were a hotshot in Atlanta. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of you around the high school and all — you look like a real asshole in all of them, by the way —”

“Thanks,” Barrett said dryly.

“But I guess, when I saw you on the porch, I, uh, got it. You’re a real good-looking motherfucker.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Barrett said, feeling a little uneasy. “People tend to go easier on thin, young white guys. I’m under no illusion that it makes me special.”

The look Declan gave him was a mix of _how dare you contradict me_ and wry acknowledgment. 

“Whatever, be fake humble if you want,” he said. “Bet you fucked around a lot in school.”

“No,” Barrett said, shaking his head. “Not in high school. I couldn’t risk it — I guess my parents used Sandy as kind of, I don’t know, a _worst case scenario_ for me. What I did at sixteen could totally derail the rest of my life. Knowing what I know now, that was — really fucked up.”

“Yeah, seems pretty shitty to dump on someone for giving them something they’ve always wanted, presumably. How did your dad even know Sandy?”

Barrett shook his head. “My parents couldn’t have kids of their own, I guess. But how I came about — I don’t know. It couldn’t be anything good. I’ve thought about asking Roche…”

“Ask him?” Declan said with a look of distaste. “Why would you do that?”

“Look, he was Sandy’s friend back then. He told me so himself.”

“She never mentioned it. She never talked about any of it except — she mentioned you a few times.” 

Barrett put his hand on his head for a moment. “I don’t think I’ll regret anything more than that graduation party. I should’ve asked her to stay. I should’ve talked to her.”

“Yeah,” Declan said. “Now you can’t, now she’s dead and you’ll never know her secrets.”

“Brutal, but honest,” Barrett said, letting his hand fall to his side and taking a sip of whiskey. “I think — all right, I know my dad used to be a really good pianist. Put himself through law school playing at a bar. Gave lessons, later on. He had an old Steinway here that they sold after I started walking, apparently it was a hazard for a little kid. Now, I wonder…” 

“Disgusting,” Declan said. “No wonder Mom never talked about it.” 

“Well, yeah. That all — happened,” Barrett said with a shaky laugh. “Anyway, I didn’t even start dating until I went to college.”

“Loser,” Declan said into his drink. 

“Shut up. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that we’re talking about _me_ , not you, you manipulative little bastard.”

Declan grinned. “Fine. I could tell you my whole gay journey, but what would be the point? All we need to know right now is if you’re going to be an homophobic asshole about it or not.”

“ _Not_ ,” Barrett said. “I had good friends in college—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure they just loved an earnest little Southern boy trying to be an ally. Fuck off.”

“I mean, it’s — Declan, why’d you stay _here_? There’s better places. Safer ones. I mean, that thing that happened last year … I know it was in Wyoming but it could be here.”

“Could be here,” Declan echoed back. “You saw stuff like that? _Participated_ in stuff like that, being part of the football team?”

“I kept my head down,” Barrett said. “But everyone has stuff they’re ashamed of. I could’ve done more for a lot of people, for lots of reasons.” 

“Hell of a time, high school,” Declan said, shaking his head. “Kind of surprised I made it. Mom got sick at the end of my junior year. I didn’t have much time to angst about my personal deviance or whatever.”

“Did you ever date anyone in high school?”

“Here?” Declan said with a laugh. “Until I was fifteen I didn’t think I even — that I could even _feel_ sexual feelings for anyone. Everyone else was obsessed with sex and I just — liked reading, video games, music and hanging out with Lissie. I guess we were dating, or at least everyone thought we were. She always knew, though.”

“What changed when you were fifteen?” 

“The high school got a new swimming pool,” Declan said vaguely. “I don’t know. Something clicked on and a lot of things about me made sense. But I didn’t do anything about it until I was older.” 

Barrett got up and poured himself another drink. When he offered Declan a top-up, his brother declined. 

“Still, you could — I don’t know, go to New York, California,” Barrett said, pacing around the room. “Well, even Atlanta’s not too bad. You’re a handsome young guy, you’d clean up.” 

“I’m not moving so I can get a boyfriend,” Declan said, scowling.

“Now you’re just being stubborn,” Barrett said, putting down his drink on the mantelpiece.

“You sound like Lissie. We argued, you know, the night of mom’s funeral. She’s mad at me for not coming up north like I said I would. But the thing is … why the fuck do I have to give up everything? I was born here too. I belong as much as any asshole who’d hate me. Probably more. Why do I have to go?”

“There’s more assholes here than there are people like you,” Barrett said. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He knew he was floundering. “I really wish it wasn’t the case. I don’t want the best people to leave and just the assholes to stay—”

“Right, I think we’ve talked enough about this,” Declan said, clapping his hand against his thigh as he stood. He put down his tumbler on the table and looked back at Barrett and frowned. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

“Ask what?”

“You want to ask if I’d go for you if we weren’t brothers. I can see it.”

Barrett laughed. “You fucking _baby_. You need to stop telling on yourself.”

Declan blushed and tried to bluster. “Actually, I was going to say no way in hell. You’re not that cute or charming, or whatever the hell you think you are.” 

“Of course not.” Barrett strode over to him, coming close enough so they were looking at each other, eye to eye. Declan was taller than him, but he bent down, almost unconsciously. 

“I’d never seen you until that night,” Declan said. “Only seen pictures of you around the school. And the ones your mom sent mine sometimes. She’d stick it on her bedside table. Always thought you looked like a stuck-up prick.”

“I didn’t know about Mom sending pictures,” Barrett said. 

“You were always more present in our lives than we were in yours.” 

Barrett was quiet. It was perfectly true. He backed away a step and laughed. “Well, this is maybe the most excruciating conversation I’ve ever had —”

“Really? I thought it was fine,” Declan replied, rolling his eyes. 

“You know, now that I’ve gotten to know you a little better, I think you should maybe lay off all that sarcasm. You’re actually a pretty earnest kid —”

“I’m not a kid, stop that condescending crap --” 

“And you swear so goddamn much --” 

He was interrupted by a large crash coming from the dining room. Rabbit was barking and Barrett grabbed Declan’s arm. In a low voice, he said, “My old baseball bat is in the hall closet.”

Declan nodded and went to get it while Barrett grabbed a poker from the fireplace. 

They came together and walked quietly to the door of the dining room. The room was empty, but Barrett groaned when he saw that his mother’s prize china cabinet had tipped over. The floor was covered with broken glass and porcelain. 

“Fuck,” Barrett said, feeling something like true despair. “That was supposed to be Lily’s wedding present from my parents.”

“We have to look around,” Declan said urgently. “Focus, Barrett.”

They checked the ground floor and then the upper floors. Barrett clambered up the rickety steps to the attic. He heard an odd rustling sound, but he figured it was rats. 

When he met back up with Declan in front of the stairs, Barrett sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening here. First I get hit by someone who doesn’t bother to stop, now my mom’s hundred and fifty year-old china’s dust. And I feel like shit.” 

Barrett felt like he was about to cry, just another humiliation on top of everything else. He wiped his eyes and blinked. “But it’s— fine. You can go to bed. I’ll stay up a little while longer.”

“No. Would you look at yourself? You’re swaying like a tree,” Declan said, reaching out to steady him. “You need to rest.”

“Someone could still be in the house,” Barrett muttered. His eyes felt heavy, but the pain that had been held back for so long came flooding back.

“There’s no one here but us,” Declan said. “Barrett, do you need me to call the doctor?”

“No, I’m okay. Still a little bit concussed, but that’s not a big deal,” Barrett said. He was vaguely aware of Declan half-guiding, half-hauling him to his bedroom and into his bed. There was a click of the lamp and one of Barrett's painkillers was shoved into his hand.

Once he’d taken it and settled into bed, Barrett muttered, “Can you stay here?”

Declan’s face was blurred, but Barrett could see him nod before he fell asleep.

*

Barrett woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. He was curled up in bed and Declan was beside him, taking up more than his fair share of space. A heavy arm was laid over Barrett’s shoulder, and he had to be careful to wriggle out before Declan woke up.

As he stumbled out to his old room, where the upstairs phone was, Barrett realized that he was suffering from a severe case of morning wood. “Shit,” he muttered, trying to push it down as he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Barrett?” said a familiar voice across the crackle of the line. “Are you okay? I haven’t talked to you in a week.”

“Lily,” Barrett breathed out. He’d fallen asleep in his jeans and the fit of it was painful against his cock. He tried to balance the phone receiver while unzipping his fly to get some relief. What a stupid position to be in, he thought wryly. How exactly like the rest of his life.

“My God, a sign of life from you, finally,” said Lily. 

“I’m still alive, babe,” Barrett assured her. He groaned, still feeling discomfited. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice. I miss you.”

“Same here! I was really worried, it seemed like you fell off the face of the earth. And you never picked up when I called. What happened?” 

He could hear the clicking of a pen that she always kept next to the phone, in case she needed to write something down.

Barrett felt a rush of affection for Lily. She was so conscientious and considerate. She always had been, since the day they met. He didn’t want to lie to her — ever. 

“My birth mother died last week,” he said. “My half-brother moved in. It’s been kind of crazy lately. It’s no excuse, I know. I should’ve called you.”

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t know — were you close with her?”

“Not really,” Barrett said. He thumbed idly at his zipper. He wondered what she was wearing right now. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was just before seven. Probably dressed for her shift at the hospital already. She wasn’t a sloppy girl, his Lily. Always dressed like it was the first day of school. Maybe she had on a string of pearls. Definitely in a crisp white lab coat that Barrett secretly thought was very sexy. 

“So, do you still want me—”

“Always,” Barrett assured her dreamily.

“All right, silly,” Lily said affectionately. “I meant, should I come over next week like we planned? Or do you need me to come — later?”

“Next week is fine. I really do miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Lily said. “Oh God, I have to go. Stay out of trouble, okay? And pick up your phone once in a while, all right?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lily said as she hung up. 

Barrett sighed as he hung up. There was a little scuffle at the door and he turned to see Declan looking at him. “What?”

“Were you really jacking off while you were talking to your girlfriend?” Declan said with a disbelieving laugh. He leaned in and lowered his tone. “Does she have a sexy voice or something?”

“No! I mean, sure,” Barrett said. “Just turn around — this isn’t how it looks.”

Despite his words, he was the one to turn away and zip himself up. He felt embarrassed but he knew he didn’t have any reason to be. Even when he was presentable, as he walked out of the room, he felt Declan’s amusement follow him, as intimate as a touch.


	6. Cecil's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's was a gay bar, it was a honky-tonk, it was a dive. It was a place for people who didn’t quite fit in elsewhere, a place where they could gather and have a good time. There was an unspoken understanding that one could meet at Cecil’s on Saturday night and at church on Sunday with no consequences in between.

Cecil’s was a ramshackle place off the beaten path, just a red timber house in the middle of nowhere. The sign out front said _CECIL’S_ , and below that, with some letters missing: _IT’S NOW_. 

The building, as far as anyone knew, had been an inn of some kind, before the railroads and then the highways had passed it by. One had to really know where they were going to find Cecil’s — it was fifteen miles away from Bell Union, through deep and swampy woodlands, very near the ruins of the old Halcyon Plantation. The eponymous Cecil had been rumored to be the man who had set the plantation house on fire, though no one could ever prove it. Nothing much more was known about the mysterious Cecil, save that he had disappeared soon after the smoke cleared. He had left the deed for the plot of land that eventually became Cecil’s to his eldest daughter, Lucretia. 

She was the one who built the inn, to serve the mostly black travelers, leaving the countryside and going to the city and all points north. Her family held onto the inn-turned-bar until after the Second World War, when another fire brought it down. 

This time, there were no suspects — at least, not officially. 

The shell of Cecil’s stood empty for decades until Lonny Alford and his wife, Junie, bought the place in the mid-seventies and restored it to its former glory. They made it what it was now. And it was a place for people who didn’t quite fit in elsewhere, a place where they could gather and have a good time. There was an unspoken understanding that one could meet at Cecil’s on Saturday night and at church on Sunday with no consequences in between. 

It was a gay bar, it was a honky-tonk, it was a dive. And most importantly, it was always deserted when the cops would make their monthly visit to _keep the peace_.

Junie was still around — though Lonny had died ten years ago — but it was her nephew, Scot, who ran the day to day. Scot had been a few years ahead of Barrett in school, but he recognized him as soon as Barrett came through the door. 

“The last of the Barrett’s privateers has returned!” he declared. “But Miss Cliff is not with you?”

“Nah, he’s busy getting a PhD for chemical engineering at Georgia Tech. Something about polymers.” With a rueful chuckle, Barrett said, “Cliff was always smarter than me.” 

“But you’ve always been prettier,” Scot said with a wink. Scot was in his late twenties, but he embodied a far older spirit. He was expansive in every way — he was fat, he was handsome, he knew the effect he had on people. Barrett remembered the string of broken hearts Scot had left behind in school — nothing about that had changed. 

It was kind of early to be at Cecil’s — only the most dedicated barflies had shown up. But Barrett didn’t intend to stay very long. He just wanted to check on Declan and be off — his partying days were long over, or so he thought. 

He’d gotten a ride from a friend who hadn’t stayed, and he planned to go home the same way, and soon. When he told Scot this, the older man expressed his shock and disbelief. 

“The Logan I knew would never give up his pirate dreams like that,” Scot said, taking Barrett by the elbow and guiding him to the bar. Barrett allowed himself to be led, looking around. It was still decorated with a hodgepodge of stuff, things that could be genuinely valuable and stuff that was truly trash. He thought, personally, that the stuffed Bigfoot in the corner, dressed in a white Colonel Sanders-eque costume, was a bit much. 

“Looks like you kinda gave up on the pirate theme?” Barrett asked, leaning against the bar. He didn’t see Declan anywhere, though he should’ve clocked in an hour ago. 

“Well, people kept wanting daiquiris and fresh fruit’s expensive,” Scot said dismissively. “Besides, not all of my patrons truly embody the pirate spirit. Some of 'em are the exact opposite. Guess you’ll have to figure out which one you are.” 

“I think I know,” Barrett assured him. 

“So, are you here to clear your tab or start a new one?” Scot said, looking deep into his eyes. Scot had bright hazel eyes with a greenish tint, which stood out against the brown of his skin. Barrett found himself looking at Scot and sighing. 

“You gotta stop bewitching me, Scot. I’m practically a married man.”

“Y’all marry too early around here,” Scot said with a big sigh. “It’s almost the 21st century. You know you can fuck without getting married, right?”

“Sure,” Barrett said easily. “But my girl’s a doctor. Cardiac surgeon. I need to lock that down.”

“Oh, I get you. Strategic,” Scot said, tapping his finger against his lip. “Don’t let them tell you that you’re just a pretty face, Logan.”

“Thank you, thank you,” said Barrett with true sincerity. “Well, I’m just here to see if Declan’s doing well. Is he?”

“Oh? Deckhand? He’s a surly boy but he hasn’t fought with any of the patrons yet.” 

“I’m glad,” Barrett said. “Real happy that he’s applying himself.” 

Scot narrowed his eyes and leaned in. “But you tell me something. What’s that Mr. Rochefort Cheese up to? Rumors are that he’s trying to do something with Halcyon again. Sell the land to some senior living community. You’d know about this, being his godson and all?”

“Don’t know nothing about it,” Barrett assured him. “But I see Roche like once a year or something; we don’t talk much about the place. But I can’t imagine the land would be worth much. It’s so out of the way.” 

“Well, people like playing Tara,” Scot said cryptically. “Nevermind that that place is a graveyard.” 

It was then Declan emerged from the basement with a fresh keg in his arms. He blanched slightly when he saw Barrett and Scot in obvious cahoots, but he studiously ignored them both as he set up the new keg. 

“Hey, Declan,” Barrett said as soon as he was finished. Declan kept ignoring him, taking a wet rag and wiping down the bar. Barrett waved a hand in front of his face. “The bouncer let me in. Are you going to do something about it?” 

“Are you gonna order something, sir?” Declan snapped, slapping the rag against the table. 

“Remember your training,” Scot said, getting up from the stool. “Can’t scream at the patrons until they’ve closed their tab.” 

“Yessir,” Declan said unhappily. 

“Well, it was very nice to see you again, Lucky Logan,” Scot said grandly, shaking Barrett’s hand. “Brought me back wonderful memories of my youth.” 

“Always a pleasure, Scot,” Barrett said pleasantly, and Scot went off to do his duty. 

“I can’t believe you,” Declan said as soon as he was gone. Declan’s voice was low but outraged. Barrett grinned when he heard it. “Coming into my place of work. Pretending to flirt with my boss. Still sitting here even though you clearly see that I’m working.” 

“That sounds real bad. I wasn’t pretending though.”

A regular came up and ordered something. Declan went over and served him. Barrett waited until he came back, which he did, an impatient look on his face. 

“You gotta work on your customer service face,” Barrett said conversationally. “Smile more.”

Declan bared his teeth. “Like this?”

“Good enough. OK, I’ll order something. Maybe something fruity or fun?” 

“You only drink whiskey and you only drink when you’re avoiding something painful,” Declan said flatly. “You better watch out or you’re going to be a classic Southern drunk.” 

“You’re the worst bartender I’ve ever seen,” Barrett said. “But you’re right. Just call me Tennessee Williams and get me whiskey on the rocks, please.” 

*

It was a few hours later and Barrett was still at Cecil’s. The bar was much more crowded now. Someone had managed to gather up a live band to play on the tiny stage and the air was filled with music and the scent of sweat and booze. Someone touched Barrett’s hip and when he glanced up, he was met with a cocky grin and quirked eyebrow. Barrett grinned back and let himself be led to the back hallway, past where the restrooms were. Barrett was pushed against the wall and kissed. The man unzipped Barrett’s jeans and pulled down his underwear, withdrawing his cock.

“All right,” Barrett breathed out, satisfied with the state of things, when his companion was jerked away and he was suddenly looking at the furious face of Declan, who was looking at him like he was the scum of the earth.

“What the hell are you doing?” Declan demanded. 

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m at Cecil’s,” Barrett said, annoyed. His companion quickly withdrew, muttering _you could’ve said you had a boyfriend_ as he left.

With great reluctance, Barrett put his cock away and zipped up his pants. He was mildly surprised to look up to see Declan still standing there, glaring at him.

“Don’t you have to go back to work?” he asked.

“I’m off,” Declan said quickly.

“It’s not even close to last call …”

“Never mind that. What are you doing? You’re _engaged_ ,” Declan said. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you? You’re a liar and a cheat now?”

“Why do you think you’re qualified to judge me?” Barrett asked, leaning against the wall and looking at Declan with half-lidded eyes. “You’ve never had a real relationship.” 

“So I can’t recognize shitty behavior when I see it? You’re drunk. We’re going home.”

“No,” Barrett said. “This is probably a teaching moment for you but — listen. You can’t make people do anything they don’t want to do. Even if you’re right and they’re wrong.” 

He shook off Declan’s hand and walked back into the club. There, he lost himself in the touches, the mindless excitement of the crowd. Perfect for the emptiness within.

*

It was the last call and Barrett was drinking water at the bar. Scot had come by to check on him — hadn’t even mentioned his lack of surprise that Barrett had stayed the whole time. “You okay to go home, Logan? I could take you back to my place, you know. Show you a hell of a good time,” Scot said, trailing his fingers across the back of Barrett’s neck. He looked momentarily sad when Barrett sheepishly refused him, before he sprang back again. 

“Waiting for Declan to finish, then?” Scot said, a little wistfully. 

“'Fraid so,” Barrett replied. “I made an ass of myself earlier.” 

“I think both of you did,” Scot replied. He tapped his business card against the bar. “Call me when you’re ready not to make mistakes, Barrett.” 

Then Scot waltzed off, leaving Barrett to wonder what would’ve happened if he had taken Scot’s offer. He wouldn’t be stranded here, for one…

Declan approached him then, already dressed to leave. He lifted one of his eyebrows and looked at Barrett questioningly.

“Scot’s gone. You missed your chance.”

“It’ll come again, knowing Scot. I was waiting for you.” 

“Why?” Declan said, folding his arms together. Barrett flushed and looked down.

“You were right. I wasn’t able to live up to my ideals later and I lashed out at you because of that.”

Declan sighed loudly. “This is stupid. Do you have a ride back or not?”

“Not,” Barrett said. “Can I go with you?”

“Yeah,” Declan said. “I’m going to have to close up, so you have to wait a bit.” 

Barrett did — he helped sweep up and put up the chairs, and finally they were ready to go. 

“Do you want to go see the ruins?” Barrett said as they were leaving. “I know everyone’s been there, but I know a back way right to the place. We can avoid the fence.”

“No, I’ve never been there,” Declan said. “What would we do? Piss on a plantation?”

“If you want,” Barrett said and watched the various types of emotions war on Declan’s face. 

“Fine,” he said shortly. “It better not take too much time.”


	7. Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So. You were saying that there’s no such thing as ghosts?”

They drove to the ruins of Halcyon in silence, interrupted by Barrett giving occasional directions. The property was fenced off, but Roche had shown Barrett a shortcut long ago. They parked off a service road and walked into the tangled woods that had once been Halcyon’s oak alley. 

“Halcyon was built in the late 18th century by a Virginian named William Coleridge. Named after the Grecian myth of birds that would nest upon the ocean waves. Coleridge brought down with him twelve slaves, but when he married Therese Beauvaise Rochefort, she brought a total of thirty slaves with her as a part of her marriage settlement. 

"They grew cotton, mostly, but also had some sugar cane crops. There was a sawmill here, as well as a sugar mill press and evaporator.”

“Why do you know so much about this?” Declan muttered.

“Someone tells me something, it knocks around in my head forever,” Barrett replied. 

“They should do you a favor and knock you out,” Declan muttered and Barrett shrugged. It wasn’t as if Declan was wrong. 

They walked slowly up the scattered gravel path to the house. The moon was bright and clear — it could almost be daylight, for how bright it was. The wisps of Spanish moss grew clumped on the oaks and waved in the breeze.

In the depths of summer, it was almost cold, even in Georgia.

“Everything here was built on slavery,” Barrett said. The facade of the house was almost complete — the stark columns, the marble steps, the lattice against the railings. Only the empty windows, showing the open roof behind, betrayed the illusion.

“Thing is — the Logans were slaveholders too, although not on the scale of the Coleridges or the Rocheforts, clearly. No plantations to run there. But I think it was my great-great-grandmother, bought a little girl when she was six years old and kept her until she was forty. Sybilia, I think her name was. I researched all this in high school,” Barrett said. 

“My mama was interested in genealogy and family history. _Her_ momma was a member of the DAR. Not the Daughters of the Confederacy though. She had a feud with the chapter president. Absolutely forbade my mother or her sisters to join.”

“Are you going to do anything with all this stuff you know?” Declan asked, kicking a pebble across the way. It bounced on the first step and landed on the second.

But Barrett wasn’t done. “No. I don’t have a clue what to do with all this stuff. All this shame. My ancestors owned people. My dad fucked a teenage girl. Maybe my mom let him. Why the hell should I even try to be a good person? There’s not a single good person in my family line.”

Declan, who had been completely silent until now, turned to Barrett, his eyes cold. “You got the exact wrong thing out of all that. You think your family’s unique because they did terrible things? Lots of people have done terrible things. That doesn’t excuse what you do.”

Barrett shrugged helplessly and they lapsed into silence. 

They mounted the steps to the porch. Just through the front door, there was a sharp drop-off and then rubble. Someone had put in a narrow walkway that led more deeply into the ruins. It was clearly new, from after the last time Barrett had trespassed here.

Maybe Scot was right and Roche was planning to do something with Halcyon.

“Do you want to go inside?” Barrett asked Declan. His brother shifted his weight from one leg to another. He looked uneasy and a little afraid. 

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, remember?” Barrett said, chiding him gently. Declan scowled at him. Somewhere in the dark, a great horned owl hooted. The wind rustled the tops of the oak trees. It seemed like everything and everyone was waiting for Declan’s answer.

“What the hell,” he said with a shrug. “Lead on then, intrepid leader.” 

“Good,” Barrett said. He took out a flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. They walked inside the ruins and the darkness gathered around them.

“Did you ever look up the history of the Hyatts? Mom’s kin?” Declan asked as they walked down the narrow platform deeper into the house. 

“A little bit,” Barrett said. “Mostly health stuff. When Lily heard that I was adopted, she advised me to check out what kind of illnesses my birth family might’ve had. Only looked into Sandy and her siblings and a bit about her parents. Your granddad dropped dead of a heart attack at forty-two, so watch out for that —”

“You too,” Declan said. “You could have that same bad ticker inside your chest.”

“Yeah. Gotta avoid all that salty and fatty foods, I guess,” Barrett said cheerfully. He heard Declan grunt and fall silent. Barrett shrugged. Maybe Declan really was upset that Barrett had called Sandy’s father _his_ grandfather, not theirs.

Barrett walked deeper into the house and tried to remember the plans. He must’ve seen them, at Roche’s place. They’d passed the remnants of the grand staircase, which was mostly intact, but Roche had always warned him that it was fundamentally unstable. What was still upstairs couldn’t be risked. 

Some of the more subterranean chambers had survived the fire. Roche had once said he would show Barrett where they were, but that hadn’t happened yet. At least — Barrett frowned. At least, he didn’t think so. 

Something rustled overhead, and he looked up to see a dark shadow of a bird against the moonlight and stars and the open roof. 

There was truly nothing here, he thought, looking around. Just a sad, desolate place, haunted only by the terrible things that had taken place here. He was about to say that exact thing to Declan when he realized that his brother wasn’t behind him. The walkway was only wide enough for one person — he couldn’t have gotten ahead of Barrett, and the platform was empty behind him. 

With a sick sense of dread, Barrett aimed his flashlight downward, into the pit. “Declan! Are you there? Can you hear me?” His voice echoed back at him, faintly mocking. 

Barrett looked around, his panic mounting. He was convinced that Declan had fallen, somehow, and was unable to call for help. Maybe he’d hit his head or something? 

Barrett wondered if he could climb down from the platform — he gripped the side hard and prayed to God. He was about to descend when he heard his name shouted out. 

“Barrett!” Further down the platform, on the far side of the house, he saw Declan standing there, looking at him. He motioned for Barrett to come closer. His voice echoed through the emptiness of the ruins. “What are you doing? Come here!”

Barrett aimed his flashlight over to him, but it only reached the tops of Declan’s shoes. The moonlight hadn’t penetrated to where he was. 

“How did you get all the way over there?” Barrett shouted back, bewildered. He took a step forward, when someone grabbed his arm. Barrett whipped around, startled. He came face to face with Declan, who was covered in dirt and leaves. 

“We have to leave,” Declan said. “Come on.” 

They didn’t run. The walkway wouldn’t have been able to take it. Instead, they both walked quickly out of the ruins and on to the porch. Barrett didn’t turn back to catch sight of whatever was at the other end of the house. He was afraid that there would be nothing, or worse than that, there would be something.

As soon as they reached the porch, they took off in a dead run toward the car. The air was filled with sounds, not all natural. Barrett felt as if some long bony arm was reaching for him, cursing him for being alive and young when it was dead and old. He didn’t quite breathe until he had jammed himself back inside the passenger side of the Corvette. 

Declan, in the driver’s seat, turned the key and the engine roared to life. They drove out of Halcyon like a bat out of hell. 

After a long silence, Declan looked over to Barrett and said, drily, “So. You were saying that there’s no such thing as ghosts?”

*

They had breakfast at the Waffle House. The globe lights of the restaurant were the only definite illumination in the pre-dawn murk. The place was empty except for the server and cook, as well as one patron, who was having a long and involved, albeit one-sided, discussion with the cook. 

The server didn’t blink at the sight of them — wild-eyed and disheveled, and in Declan’s case, covered in dirt and leaves. “What are y’all having?” he said with a yawn.

Barrett ordered for the two of them — coffee, hash browns, smothered, and eggs and bacon. Declan muttered something about wanting English muffins. They took a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, away from the others. Declan was quiet and moody until the coffee came. 

“I don’t even know if you drink coffee,” Barrett said. “Never seen you, I guess. Do you like drinking it? Did Sandy teach you?”

“You babble when you’re nervous,” Declan said. He took a sugar packet from the holder and shook it loose. He added three of them to his coffee along with a splash of cream. 

Still, he winced when he swallowed it.

“You have to let it cool,” Barrett said, taking a spoon and stirring his coffee. Declan leaned against the table and Barrett could feel his leg press against his own. A very deliberate pressure. He swallowed hard. There was nowhere to look except deeply into Declan’s eyes. 

His eyes were dark and fathomless. Easy to get lost in. Barrett looked away.

Their food came then, which was a relief. Barrett turned his attention to his hash browns and eggs. 

He didn’t know what was happening between the two of them. Or maybe he didn’t want to know. Barrett coughed and looked around. No one was paying any particular attention to him. 

Barrett hunched over his plate and said, “So, uh. What do you think happened back there? Where did you go?”

Declan was buttering his English muffin and stopped. He shrugged. 

Barrett said, earnestly and quietly, “I saw something back there. Something that looked like _you_. God, did you see it? Tell me you saw it.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Declan said shortly. “Something pushed me off the platform and I must’ve fallen down to the cellar. It was nasty down there. Dark too. I had to climb back up and meanwhile, you were screaming your fool head off —”

“I _saw_ something,” Barrett said. “Something I shouldn’t have seen.”

Declan said nothing to that. Barrett couldn’t stand just sitting there, staring at him. He popped up from his seat and said, “I’m going to put something on from the jukebox.”

Declan pulled a face. “Don’t. You’ll ruin the atmosphere.”

“It’s a Waffle House,” Barrett said. “The music’s about Waffle House. How can I ruin the atmosphere?”

He was the most hated person at the Waffle House for the duration of the meal — no one really wanted raucous, breakfast-themed music at the crack of dawn — but that was something he was perfectly happy about. 

Hash browns tasted especially good that way. 

*

They were five minutes away from home when Declan pulled off the road and cut the engine. The silence between them grew so loud as to be unbearable. Barrett broke it, almost without thinking about what he wanted to say. Anything to not sit in the quiet of his thoughts.

“You almost died today,” Barrett said. 

“No, no, I was fine,” Declan said with a bright, false smile. “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” Barrett countered. “I saw you. You weren’t fine.”

He reached out and pushed the hair away from Declan’s face. He smiled slightly at the displeased face Declan gave him. 

Declan was — cute, for all that he tried desperately not to be. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” Barrett said, almost to himself. “I would’ve hated to lose you so soon after I found you. And it would’ve been my fault.”

“Found me? I was always there,” Declan said. He licked his lips together. “Besides, your life’s got off the rails since I came into the picture. It’s all right for you to say it.”

“You’re wrong—” Barrett began to say, before Declan leaned in and kissed him. It was an oddly tentative gesture, coming from someone as bold as Declan was. Barrett gasped against his lips. He reached out blindly and grabbed the collar of Declan's flannel shirt. He pulled it toward him and deepened the kiss. 

A police cruiser drove past them, and both of them pulled apart like they’d been shocked. Barrett took a deep, shaky breath. He felt as if all his blood was throbbing under the surface of his skin. 

“Better get back,” he said, hardly listening to his own words. “Sunday morning’s pretty busy and I want to get some work done on the house after church.” 

“Well then, we _have_ to hurry back to your _This Old House_ fantasy,” Declan said, starting the car up. 

Barrett reached out and squeezed Declan’s thigh. He smiled fixedly out of the window. “Don’t talk, just drive.” 


	8. Deeper & Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers form a deeper bond, the police come knocking (unrelated) and someone breaks another social norm (taking a something out of another person's grocery cart.)

Rabbit was barking as soon as they stumbled across the threshold of the house. “Hush, Rabbit,” Barrett said before Declan reached over and kissed him again. It was a deeper kiss than before, more consuming, harder to pull away. The dog took one look at them and whined low in her throat and pawed at the floor.

“Rabbit,” Barrett said, waving at the dog. “Don’t scratch the wood, goddamn it.”

“Barrett, I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop,” Declan said, even as he kissed the shell of Barrett’s ear. He put an arm around Barrett’s shoulder, locking him in a sturdy embrace. 

“It’s your dog,” Barrett said, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to pretend everything was normal when it clearly was not. 

“Rabbit, stop,” Declan said. Rabbit did. With one last pitiful look, she skulked away. To Barrett, Declan said, “I’ll walk her tomorrow.”

Barrett’s eyes met Declan’s. “Should we go upstairs?” 

“Yeah,” Declan said, in a low voice. “I want to get my cock in you.”

Barrett’s pulse raced. His mouth was dry, even as he licked his lips and studied the floor. “Ah, yeah. You too. But you have to — take a shower, you’re still covered in dirt.”

He wanted to reach out and fix Declan’s curls. He didn’t, though. Touching him now would be — unwise. Dangerous. 

“Come with me,” Declan said, taking his hand. It was a tempting offer. Barrett took a beat too long to answer. 

“No, you go ahead,” Barrett said. He watched as Declan went up the stairs, and went to find Rabbit. She was in her dog bed and gave him a reproachful look, but when she saw him putting an extra measure of dog chow in her bowl, she huffed in satisfaction. 

He knelt down and stroked her fur. “Don’t follow me upstairs,” he instructed her as he gave her one of her favorite chew toys — a squeaky pizza. 

Rabbit was truly mollified then. She watched him go, the sound of the chew toy following him out. 

Barrett mounted the steps with equal feelings of dread and anticipation. He heard the sound of the shower and then heard it stop. He went to his own bathroom and washed his face. 

In the yellow bathroom light, he looked tired— the cut on his forehead, with its stitches, seemed especially livid against the paleness of his skin. His blue eyes seemed more washed-out than usual, the bags under them darker. He had a face full of troubles. What the hell did Declan see in him? 

Maybe it was just the thrill of the forbidden that attracted him. Wasn’t it the same for Barrett? But no, Barrett thought ruefully, it wasn’t that for him. He could now admit to the frisson of pleasure and attraction that he’d experienced when he had first seen Declan. He’d wanted more from the start. 

It would’ve been different if they’d grown up together. If they had been brothers from the start and none of these — bent, fucked-up feelings would’ve come about. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to date Marylee because she was his childhood friend. What sense did it make that he wanted nothing more than to fuck his own brother?

_Half-brother_ , said a little voice in the back of his head. It wasn’t the least bit useful. No one would listen to the _half_ part. It was ridiculous. 

Sick to his stomach, Barrett was still looking in the mirror for some clues as to how to proceed, when he saw the reflection of Declan at the door behind him. Barrett thought back to the thing he'd seen in Halcyon and shuddered. He didn’t think he would ever forget it. 

“What’s wrong?” Declan asked him. He hunched his shoulders, as if preparing himself to be rejected. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Heaven help me,” Barrett said, turning around. “I haven’t.” 

Declan graced him with a brief, beautiful smile. He strode over to him and caressed the side of his face. Musingly, he said, “Sometimes it’s really obvious you were raised by old people, you know.” 

“Shut up,” Barrett said, annoyed. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

“I want to kiss you again,” Declan said simply. “Will you let me?”

Barrett dropped his gaze. “No, I don’t mind it.”

As soon as they kissed, the lights went out. 

“It’s faulty wiring,” Barrett said quickly. He pulled Declan toward the bed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Man, how can you say that after the night we just had? Ghosts are real and they don’t like your choices,” Declan said mockingly. He tried to wrap his arms around Barrett, but Barrett punched his shoulder. 

“It’s different when it’s _my_ house, asshole,” Barrett snapped back as the lights flickered on again. He let Declan go and threw himself on to the bed. 

When he’d been a child, this bed had seemed as big as the world — it was always the safest place he could think of, anchored to the floor by four tall posters. It was older than the house by far, and as Barrett had grown, he had realized that it, like most things, had shrunk in his growing.

But now, crowded in the bed with Declan beside him, their hands threaded together, faces aligned and both wondering — he thought — how it had all come to this, Barrett thought the bed was an everywhere again.

As he was falling asleep, Barrett heard Declan say, almost to himself, “I knew it would happen.” 

“How?” Barrett asked sleepily. “How could you possibly know.”

“Because you’re mine,” Declan said. The way he said it, simply, confidently, shot a bolt of lust through Barrett’s body, despite his exhaustion, despite everything. He put his hand on Declan’s chest, appreciating the strong, steady beat of his heart. Barrett wanted it too. To belong to someone wholly was the greatest gift. 

It should’ve frightened him. Such was his state of mind that it thrilled him instead.

*

Barrett woke up with a brain that was scratching at the walls. Clamoring for sex. Needing it. Crying out for it. He hadn’t realized how horny he was until now, as if he’d been in stasis for the last six months. It had been that long since he had slept with Lily, and he knew it would be a completely different experience with Declan. 

It wasn’t that he was completely ignorant when it came to guys. He’d messed around with Moss a couple of times, and Scot — well, Scot could convince anyone to do anything, at least once. But there had never been much emotion involved there — just an opportune moment and mutual satisfaction. 

Tentatively, Barrett reached out and touched Declan’s face. He was still sleeping, sprawled out on the bed, seemingly without a worry in the world. That couldn’t be true, Barrett decided. After all, hadn’t Declan been so angry at him for his indiscretion at Cecil’s? He’d been angry on behalf of Lily and now — here he was, perfect and present and so close that Barrett could kiss him awake. 

He knew he was doing wrong by Lily — probably wrong by Declan too — but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to think about it just now. Barrett swallowed down the guilt and pressed a kiss to Declan’s cheek. Declan’s eyes flew open and he grinned. It was as if he hadn’t been asleep at all.

“Gonna take care of that?” he said, gesturing to Barrett’s crotch. Barrett looked down and saw that he was sporting a sizable erection. He groaned softly and tried to tamp it down, but Declan caught hold of his hand. 

“Let me do it,” he said, his eyes not meeting Barrett’s. 

“It’ll go down soon,” Barrett said, embarrassed. “Declan, we need to talk…” 

“No, we don’t,” Declan said. “You dumbass, I’m trying to blow you. Why are you saying no?”

“It’s late,” Barrett said, his voice slightly uncertain. Despite his own words, he scooted closer to Declan and held still and tense as Declan pulled down his boxers and took out his cock.

Declan examined it critically before he snorted and said, “Not bad. Bit skinny, like you.”

“I don’t need the commentary,” Barrett muttered. He bit back a groan when Declan licked the tip of his cock.

“You’re gonna get it though,” Declan said with a grin. Then he became serious and swallowed down. Barrett thought he would come too quickly, embarrassing himself. But still, Declan sucked like it was a competition. Barrett stroked his hair, fingers digging into his curls.

“N- stop, I’m about to —” Barrett gasped but Declan pulled closer, took him deeper. He came into Declan’s mouth with a shudder of delight and mortification. When Declan finally pulled away and shot him a look of smug satisfaction, Barrett pressed down on him and kissed him, the dirtiest, most thrilling kiss of his life. 

Declan flipped them around until he was on top and grinned down at Barrett. “Do you want to fuck?”

Barrett opened his mouth to reply when he heard a knock at the door. Then, the doorbell rang. 

“Ignore it,” Declan said, kissing his neck, rubbing his hardening cock against Barrett’s thighs. “No one’s home on Sunday morning.”

“Car’s out front, can’t pretend we’re not in,” Barrett replied. He pulled himself out of Declan’s grasp. Declan stayed put, the bedsheets around him and his curls in disarray. He looked thunderous. Barrett reached and flicked his chin. “Take your time coming down.”

He left Declan behind and rushed to the bathroom to put himself into some kind of shape. From the clock in the hallway, he noticed it was 12:45 — he’d missed church services for the second time in as many weeks. No doubt the town would now consider him in league with the Devil. 

He pulled on a new T-shirt and jeans and trooped downstairs. There was another knock at the door, more impatient than before. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Barrett said as he opened the door. On the other side stood Curt Holloway, a police officer and Marylee’s husband.

“Hey, Barrett. Didn’t see you at church today,” Curt said, his belt creaking as he shifted his weight. Curt had been several years ahead of Barrett in high school — had messed around with the ROTC before he’d joined the police force. He was a tall, solidly built man with a florid complexion and dark eyes. 

Barrett put his wrists together and offered then to Curt. “Afternoon, Curt. You’re here to arrest me?”

Curt smiled, using most of his teeth. “Skipping church ain’t illegal — yet. Actually, I came by to check on you, and let you know we picked up the guy who hit you.”

“Well, come on in,” Barrett said, stepping back and motioning Curt to follow him inside. “I’m getting some coffee. You want any?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Curt said, following Barrett down the hall to the kitchen. Barrett could feel Curt slowing his steps, looking around. He felt a twitch of annoyance run through him. People were far too curious about this house. 

“How’s Marylee? The kids?” Barrett said, sauntering into the kitchen to start his pot of coffee. “Take a seat.” 

“I won’t be long,” Curt said, standing near the door. He seemed to be looking for something. “Marylee seems to think you’re avoiding us. Never came to dinner last week.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” Barrett said indignantly as he fumbled with the coffee pot. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.” 

Finally, he had it set up. He hit the button to start brewing and turned his attention back to Curt. 

“You found the guy who hit me? Who was it?”

“Henry Philson. Local tweaker. Was half outta his mind when we picked him up. Driving without a valid license, of course. No insurance either. Car had a big old dent in front, no guess on how he got it. You might be called on to testify at his trial, mind.”

“Did you guys find anything in his car after you caught him? A notebook, some papers in a leather portfolio?”

Curt snorted loudly. “Philson ain’t the sort to carry around stationery. There was plenty of drugs around, though. He’d already been down last year for possession. This is his last chance. But this portfolio—why did you ask about it?”

Barrett took out a pint of half-and-half from the fridge and shrugged. “Some stuff was missing from the truck. I know I was out for a bit — went to get help — someone could’ve reached in and grabbed it.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Curt said doubtfully. It was then Declan came in, with Rabbit at his heels. Barrett felt the change in the atmosphere in the kitchen as if the barometer had dropped.

Curt narrowed his eyes and whistled to Rabbit and the dog came over to him easily, to Declan’s clear surprise. The coffee maker dinged. Barrett poured himself a cup and offered Declan one as well. Declan shook his head, his eyes watchful.

“Rabbit’s from a litter from Curt’s parents’ dogs. Ava and Dudley, isn’t it?” Barrett said. “Y’all manage to give all those pups away?”

“Almost all,” Curt replied. “I don’t think my mama wants to give up Lizard. But three dogs are a lot for 'em. Of course, Marylee doesn’t want one either.”

“Pretty interesting mix, there,” Barrett said, shaking his head. “Never seen a smarter dog but I don’t think it makes her happy.”

“Rabbit, come on,” Declan said sharply and the dog immediately went to him. Declan smiled and bent down to pet her. 

“Declan didn’t say hello,” Curt said to Barrett, who frowned at him. “I didn’t believe it at first, hearing that the two of you started living together. Can’t be, I said, not with Barrett being so particular about who comes to his house.”

“I’m not particular,” Barrett protested. “Declan needed a place and I didn’t mind the company. And we’re brothers, after all. Declan, say hi to Curt. You taking Rabbit out for a walk?”

“Officer Holloway,” Declan said stiffly. 

“Hyatt,” Curt replied. The two other men were sizing each other up in a silent battle of wills that Barrett had no context for. Curt broke first. He looked away. “Sorry to hear about your mama. She’s your only kin, I suppose. Besides Barrett, I mean.”

“That’s right,” Declan said. 

“They never figured out who your daddy really was?” Curt said, the picture of innocence. Declan glared at him and Rabbit whined under her breath. 

“Hey Curt, that was unnecessary,” Barrett protested. “Now, if y’all would all clear out, I need to go into town to see to some stuff.” 

Curt shook his head. “I’m done, I’m done.” Barrett ferried him out of the kitchen. When Declan stepped to follow him, Barrett shook his head just as soon as Curt was gone. 

“You know that boy’s trouble,” Curt said as he got to the porch. Barrett stayed beside the open door, impatience building inside him. “Almost got arrested half-a-dozen times, but each time his mama would come by with a plate of cookies or a pie for a chief and he’d let him go.”

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying here,” Barrett said coolly. 

Curt shrugged. “I’m not implying anything. Everyone knew that Chief Kelly had a sweet tooth. But there’s a new police chief in town. And Declan’s much less charming than his mama was.”

“He was a kid! I mean, a minor not long ago,” Barrett said. He grabbed a dish cloth and began to wring it dry. “I’ve never heard that he’s done anything that was worth getting arrested for.”

Curt gave him a look, heavy and patronizing. “Let me tell you — Declan Hyatt’s never been just a kid. It’s only a matter of time before he does get arrested. And now he doesn’t have his mama to come rescue him.”

“Curt, you — listen, you got kids yourself. How’d you feel if some cop said that shit about Matty? Or Lizzie? You can’t be gunning for someone when they haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Barrett winced at the look Curt gave him — coldly judgmental.

“We’ll get in contact with you if your testimony is needed for the Philson case,” Curt said as he left. Barrett watched him go. As soon as the cruiser pulled out of the driveway, he allowed himself to breathe normally again.

Declan came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Holloway’s always had it in for me. You don’t need to defend me.”

“It’s so stupid — he didn’t even listen,” Barrett said. “It’s unfair —”

“Yeah, you’re just noticing something everyone browner than a paper bag already knows, Barrett,” Declan said. 

Barrett’s stomach rumbled loudly. He sighed. “I need breakfast.” 

“Me too,” Declan said glumly. “Not much fun to get a visit from the police first thing in the morning.”

“It’s the afternoon but I get your meaning,” Barrett said. “We’ll have breakfast out. I’m tired of all this bullshit. Also, do you want to see a movie?”

Declan seemed a little thrown at the last part. “Can we bring Rabbit?”

“You can smuggle her in, if you think she’d stay quiet,” Barrett replied. Declan nodded quickly. 

*

After a breakfast at the cafe, they went to the two-screen cinema and caught the Sunday matinee for _Lake Placid._

They had to leave Rabbit in the car to buy the tickets, but as soon as the house lights dimmed, Declan sprang up from his seat and went down the steps to the emergency exit. He propped open the door with a box of Mike and Ikes and went out. He came back with Rabbit on a leash. 

Rabbit sat between them in the back of the empty theater and by all accounts seemed to enjoy the crocodile-related horror immensely. Or at least Barrett thought she did — Barrett himself slipped into a deep sleep. 

He was dreaming, he knew that. Even so, the sight before him filled him with terror. It was a hatch cut into the ground and it was open. Air, cold and faintly stale, wafted towards him. He tried to back away, but someone was behind him. They put a hand on his shoulder and said, not without sympathy, “You know you have to go inside, Barrett.”

“No,” Barrett said as he woke up. He was still at the theater, but the credits were rolling. Declan’s hand was resting on the back of his neck and when Barrett started, he pulled away.

“Do you usually fall asleep at the movies?” Declan asked teasingly, though the smile slipped off his face when he saw how serious Barrett seemed to be. 

“I don’t— I guess I’ve been tired lately,” Barrett said, shaking his head. “I think I’ve had this dream before but I always forget it…” 

Rabbit pawed at him and he stroked her fur absentmindedly. The lights had turned on and the usher was waiting impatiently for them to leave.

“The manager won’t like that you brought a dog in here,” he said as they shuffled past him.

“Live a little, Kev,” Declan said, opening the emergency exit and letting them through. 

“That was a cool thing you did,” Barrett said as soon as they were outside. It had begun to rain, big hot drops of water splattering across their faces and shoulders. It was a race to get to the car without getting soaked. They didn’t quite make it — especially since Rabbit had to be carried up and secured — but soon enough they were driving to the Piggly Wiggly for the week’s groceries. 

They left Rabbit tied up out front, with Barrett paying a kid a dollar to keep an eye on her. As soon as they walked through the automatic doors, into the air-conditioned air of the supermarket, Barrett was aware of how many people were looking at him and Declan. He saw some clerks swivel their heads away from their customers to track their progress into the store. Declan had picked up the week’s sales flyer and was looking through it, apparently without a care in the world. But Barrett knew better now than to believe it. 

They split up to cover more ground — Declan was off to the produce section since he knew so much about it, and Barrett went into the grocery section. He was glumly reviewing his options for types of bread when he heard his name being called. It was Roche, who greeted him cheerfully, as if they always met in the middle of a grocery store. 

“At least get the _wheat_ bread, Barrett,” he said, pulling out the bag of Sara Lee white sandwich bread Barrett had put in his buggy and replacing it with a bag of multigrain bread. 

“I happen to like white bread,” Barrett said with a wry smile. “And I’ve never had another shopper replace something in my buggy before.” 

“Well, it’s a new day, isn’t it?” Roche said, smiling back. Barrett shrugged and grabbed a jar of peanut butter. He held it out for Roche’s approval, but the other man only shrugged. 

“I’m surprised to see you,” Barrett said as they navigated their buggies out of the bread aisle, heading to the dairy section. “You’re usually out and about this time of year, aren’t you?”

“I thought it wouldn’t hurt me to stay closer to home,” Roche said. “Speaking of which — come over tonight. There’s something I want to show you.”

“I can’t tonight — I’m laying low, had a late night yesterday,” Barrett confessed. Roche gave him a wistful smile.

“Ah, yes. I forget how young you still are,” Roche said. “Then I’ll call to pick you up? You still answer your telephone, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Barrett said, “I’m trying to get better about that sort of thing.” 

“Could you get an answering machine? Not exactly a new technology there,” Roche said as Declan approached them. They exchanged guarded looks — at least, Declan was guarded, but Roche’s smile stayed where it was, though it seemed emptier than before.

“You two make quite a pair,” he said with a low whistle. “Don’t know how your daddy would’ve taken it, Barrett.”

“Well, he’s not here to approve or disapprove of what I do,” Barrett said, transferring his few items over to Declan’s fuller buggy. “My car’s at the shop. Declan’s been kind enough to give me a ride here and there.”

“You can use one of mine,” Roche said. “I could drop it off to you tomorrow.” 

“No need, I think I’ll be getting a rental early next week. The insurance adjuster’s got to decide if the truck’s a write-off or not.”

“Are you about finished?” Declan interrupted. “I don’t know how much longer that kid’s going to stay around to see to Rabbit.”

“You brought your dog with you?” Roche said skeptically.

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling guilty about neglecting her,” Barrett said. “Look, I’ve got to go, Roche. We’ll get together sometime, all right?”

“All right. Is Wednesday good for you?”

“Wednesday’s fine. Nice to see you, Roche,” Barrett replied as he pushed his buggy towards the checkout. 

Declan was quiet as they checked out. Once they retrieved Rabbit from the boy and loaded the car, Declan caught Barrett’s eye and leaned against the roof of his car. He smiled, but his expression wasn’t exactly happy. “You know that guy wants to sleep with you, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” Barrett said. He shook his head and got into the passenger seat and sank into it. The air conditioning was a welcome relief. “Roche’s known me since I was in diapers. He’s like my dad.”

“If he’s any kind of dad, he’s Cronus,” Declan declared. He stopped in front of Green’s Drug and Beauty and parked the car. At Barrett’s bewildered look, he sighed and clarified. “He always looks like he wants to eat you alive.” 

“They teach you that on PBS?” Barrett said, stretching out in his seat. “It’s raising a generation of baby geniuses, if so.” 

“I ain’t wrong,” Declan said with a stubborn tilt of his chin. 

“I’m not going to argue with you, Declan,” Barrett said. “Now, do you mind if I stay in the car?”

“No problem, I’ll only take a sec,” Declan said, rolling down the windows for Barrett and Rabbit, who had been snoozing in the back but now stuck her head in between the driver and passenger seats. Barrett petted her absently. 

“You’re wrong about Roche,” he said. “He’s not that bad. You two just got off on the wrong foot.”

“How you can ignore your own instincts is beyond me,” Declan said, shoving his hands into his pockets, looking to all the world like they weren’t having an odd conversation on the sidewalk. “But it makes sense that you’ve never noticed. You’re pretty myopic about these things.”

“I noticed _you_ ,” Barrett shot back. Declan rolled his eyes and went into the store. Barrett tried to sit still for a moment, but he couldn’t manage it. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a well-worn copy of Rand McNally Map of the Eastern United States. He grinned as he found Bell Union on the map — or the approximate location, anyway — and used his finger to estimate the distance to other points on the map. Charlotte. Washington. New York. 

This had been his favorite activity as a kid — but he’d never really gone anywhere until college. He missed traveling… 

“Going somewhere, Barrett?” said Miss Fanshaw, from over his shoulder. Barrett didn’t exactly startle, but he did crumple the side of the map. But when he looked up, he made sure to smile. Miss Fanshaw always noticed if you smiled or not. 

“Nowhere in particular, ma’am,” he said, getting out of the car. “Are you going anywhere?” 

“Just posting a letter,” she said with a precise nod towards the post office across the road. “I wanted to say, thank you for bringing Sherol back the other day. She’s got the tendency to wander now and it’s hard to find her sometimes.” 

Miss Fanshaw frowned deeply and Barrett saw how this confession cost her — a slight admission of vulnerability was a big deal for her. Barrett nodded solemnly and said it was no trouble. 

“She said that she would be all right — maybe you could call her grand-niece Lena sometimes? If it gets too much,” Barrett suggested, but he saw immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. Miss Fanshaw was looking at him like he had taken leave of his senses.

“Lena? Lena hasn’t lived around here in decades. Hared off to the city the first chance she got,” Miss Fanshaw said with a snort. It was then Declan swaggered out of the drug store, plastic bag in hand, though his apparent good mood took a dive when he spotted Miss Fanshaw.

“Whatcha got there, Declan?” Miss Fanshaw asked, her eyes sharp and observant. Barrett winced and massaged the back of his neck.

“Cigarettes and condoms,” Declan replied as he got into the car. He started the car and looked over to Barrett meaningfully. Barrett groaned and shook his head. 

“He doesn’t mean that, Miss Fanshaw,” he said hurriedly. “Declan doesn’t smoke— at least, I don’t think he does.” 

He got into the car before anyone could question him about anything else, but Miss Fanshaw wasn’t done with the two of them.

She knocked on the window until Barrett rolled down the window, and then wagged her finger at Declan. “You better watch out, young man. If you treat life like a joke, the joke’ll be on you.”

“Not your best work, Millie,” Declan said, cocking his head. “You’re usually much meaner than that.”

“Declan, hush,” Barrett said. Miss Fanshaw huffed in outrage and withdrew her hand. They peeled out of their parking spot before she could recover her wits.

“You’re right, I’m not a smoker,” Declan said, and Barrett threw his head back and laughed, more out of relief than anything else. 

“God, I can’t believe you called her by her first name. She’s going to slap you silly next time she sees you,” Barrett said, in between chuckles he tried to stifle. 

Declan glanced over at him and smirked, but said nothing more.


	9. Night's Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really get off on us being related, don’t you? Sicko,” Declan said, grinning. 

It was night-time and finally the air was cool. Barrett took a bottle of beer with him to the porch and sat on the steps. He felt mellow and tired from the day. When Rabbit came over and started snoozing against his back, he didn’t mind it. Overhead, the sky was dark, the gibbous moon hidden by a thick bank of clouds. 

Fireflies flickered in the field in front of the house, and from the dark line of trees, Barrett could faintly make out the wind moving through the leaves. When Declan finally came out to the porch, he was drying his hands with a hand towel. 

“Let me take a swig of that,” he said, bending down and taking Barrett’s beer. 

“Hey,” Barrett said, reaching out and tangling his fingers in Declan’s curly hair. He didn’t let go even as Declan stepped down and grabbed his shoulder. “Get your own.” 

“Rather take yours,” Declan replied and they tussled — first playfully and then in earnest, until one of them knocked the beer bottle off the porch, spilling its contents into the red clay below. 

“Look what you did, asshole,” Barrett said as Declan kissed him. It was a kiss that involved his whole body, trapped Barrett against the steps. Barrett could feel his heart beating hard against his chest. Surely Declan could hear it. After a moment, Declan pulled away. His mouth was bitten red and Barrett found himself looking at it longingly.

But he had to — be responsible. One of them had to be. He licked his lips and said, ruefully, “I think I really might be a bad influence on you, Declan.” 

Declan’s eyes were bright. “You are. Come upstairs with me.” 

Barrett pushed him away and tried to regain his breath and his peace of mind. He couldn’t do either. He stood up, swaying a little. He offered his hand to Declan, who took it with a satisfied smile.

“Don’t look so smug,” Barrett said as he shepherded Declan and Rabbit inside the house. He locked it behind him and sighed. Rabbit wandered off to bed and Declan started up the stairs. 

The whole weight of the day seemed to press itself against Barrett at that moment. He knew what he was about to do was — wrong. He shouldn’t. But he wanted to. He really, really wanted to. 

Declan was half-way up the steps before he turned around to look at him. Instead of looking annoyed or frustrated at Barrett’s hesitation, he held out his hand. “It’s not a bad thing we’re doing,” he said, earnest. “I swear.”

Barrett swallowed hard. “If we grew up together, we’d never. I’d never — I hate that I want to.”

“I want you to,” Declan said. “Shit. I don’t want to convince you to sleep with me every goddamn time. Can you imagine the damage to my ego?”

“Quite the argument,” Barrett said. He sprang up the steps to the landing where Declan was. He kissed him, biting at Declan’s flushed, full lip. “You don’t have to convince me at all. That’s the trouble.”

They went up the stairs together, Declan’s arm looped loosely around Barrett's waist. When they reached the top of the stairs, he turned toward the master bedroom. But Barrett yanked him back.

“Nuh-uh. We’re doing this in your bed, not mine,” Barrett said, not exactly meeting Declan’s eyes.

“Why not? It’s a bigger bed,” Declan protested.

“My parents slept in that bed for fifty years,” Barrett said. “I can’t sleep with my brother for the first time on that bed.”

“Oh you fucking hypocrite, you already let me blow you on that bed. Didn’t seem too precious then,” Declan said. 

“I was overwhelmed then,” Barrett said, grinning. “Couldn’t tell you which way I was coming or going.”

Declan came to a decision. He pulled Barrett toward his room, arms looped around his neck. He kissed the side of Barrett’s face and whispered hotly in his ear, “Just for that, I’m going to make you _cry_.”

Barrett shivered and hoped it was no idle promise. 

His old room hadn’t changed that much since Declan had moved in — in fact, most of Declan’s things were still in boxes in front of the chest of drawers. It seemed vaguely depressing to Barrett. He turned to Declan and said, “You can unpack, you know. This can be permanent, if you want it.”

“You’re just feeling guilty,” Declan said. “You don’t really mean it.”

“I do,” Barrett said, and he wanted to grab Declan by his collar and shake him. “I care about you, idiot. Quit doubting me.”

Declan leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet, lingering kiss — almost aching with sadness. But then he pushed Barrett on to the bed. 

“Undress,” Declan said to him, doing the same. “Hurry up.” Barrett pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor. His jeans already felt tight against his cock and when he unzipped his fly, it flopped out. Declan grabbed the legs of Barrett’s jeans and pulled them off and away. 

His own clothes followed suit. Barrett sat up and said, eagerly, “Got the condoms? The lube?”

For a moment, Declan seemed to panic before he blinked and nodded. He left the room and Barrett could hear him thumping down the stairs.

“Shit,” Barrett muttered, massaging his temples. He stared at the ceiling of his old room and saw that the watermark that looked like baby Jesus was still there. He made a mental note to whitewash that bit of ceiling. 

Declan came back, triumphant. “I didn’t leave it in the car.”

“Congratulations,” Barrett said. “Now put it on me.” Declan grew serious and nodded. He approached his task with great seriousness, which Barrett didn’t exactly help with. 

He enjoyed touching Declan, running his fingers across the fine grain of his skin. In a low voice, Barrett asked, “Is this your first time?” 

Declan shook his head sharply. He put the condom on himself and looked at Barrett expectantly. Barrett motioned him to get closer. Declan’s bed wasn’t exactly big enough for them to lay across it — it was barely wide enough for them to do that lengthwise. But he didn’t quite mind it. The intimacy was welcome. 

“There was this one time — there was this older guy — like you — he wanted to talk about his wife the whole time,” Declan said. He was stroking Barrett’s cock with singular focus. His tongue poked out between his lips and Barrett was tempted to reach out and flick it, but he resisted. 

“Calling me an older guy’s just bait,” Barrett said lazily. “I refuse to acknowledge it.”

“All right, fair, but what about—” Declan said, pressing against him. Barrett pulled his head down and pressed a kiss on the head of his cock. Declan’s breath shuddered quietly. 

Barrett shook his head sadly and peeled the condom off him. 

“Hey — what?” Declan asked, alarmed. 

“You can put on another one when you fuck me,” Barrett said, unconcerned. He licked down the length of Declan’s cock, which was hard and in his grip. Declan was breathing heavily; his hand tentatively began to stroke the top of Barrett’s head.

Barrett pulled away for a moment to say, “Pretty convenient that we have the same condom size. Genetics are amazing.”

“You really get off on us being related, don’t you? Sicko,” Declan said, grinning. 

“And you don’t?" Barrett asked curiously. "Talk about hypocrisy.” Declan flushed deeply and wouldn’t say either way. 

But Barrett didn’t want to tease Declan too much — even though that was proving to be a lot of fun — so he hurried it up and pulled away before Declan could come. They had more to do, after all.

Barrett had always suspected that he was a different person when he was having sex. He discarded his usual distraction and nervousness as unnecessary. He was more confident than otherwise. And he was always willing to do what he had to, to get what he wanted. 

He sometimes wondered if that made him an awful lay — maybe it did, when he was younger. But by now, he’d seen that if his companion was having a good time, he was likely to do so too. And he really wanted Declan to enjoy it too. After all, what was the point of ignoring social taboos if you didn’t enjoy doing it?

He watched Declan’s face as they got him ready — put on another condom, got his cock slick with lube, fingered Barrett open. Declan seemed tense and apprehensive, but when Barrett asked if they should slow down or stop, he replied in the negative.

“I can do it — I have done it before,” Declan said, biting his lower lip. He reached out and caressed Barrett’s stomach. They were now sitting in a loose embrace, facing each other. Barrett’s legs were spread, bracketed around Declan’s body.

When Declan’s cock pressed against the rim of Barrett’s ass, their eyes met. Declan kissed him roughly as he pushed in. Barrett groaned, deep in his throat. He felt a fundamental change running through him.

He’d say it was crossing the Rubicon, but he thought the die had been cast the moment Declan had shown up at his door.

“Sweet boy,” Barrett said, caressing Declan’s cheek. “You’re doing so well for me. I love you.” 

It didn’t take that long for Declan to come, but they stayed entangled together for a longer time. It felt unimaginable to separate just then. 

“You’re serious,” Declan said. He pressed his face against Barrett’s neck. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Barrett assured him. “I know it doesn’t mean much — I’m a cheater and an asshole. But I do love you. You don’t have to say it back.”

“Okay,” Declan replied. “I mean, I’m gonna. I’ve been obsessed with you — for a long time. I thought I hated you. But I don’t. I really don’t.”

Such a sincere confession had to be acknowledged. Barrett smiled to reassure Declan, when he noticed a drop of something dark and wet on Declan’s shoulder. He brushed it away and looked up, curiously. It would be just his luck if the roof had started leaking.

The roof wasn’t leaking. Instead, he saw a twisted figure of a man pinned to the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Blood was dripping from his face and hands and it took Barrett a moment to realize that the face was his own. The dead man’s mouth opened and he could see the blood staining his teeth. 

No sound came from his scream. 

The world had gone completely quiet. 


	10. Dreamland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett is thrown back into the past, plagued by a persistent feeling that something's wrong. Can he escape Dreamland?

Barrett woke up from a deep sleep with a start. 

The first thing he saw was the ceiling of his room. A water mark had formed exactly above him. It looked like a bean or something. He’d have to tell his dad about it.

A knock at the door startled him. He looked over to see his mother beaming at him. “I’m glad you decided not to sleep the whole day away, baby. I wanted to wish you happy birthday first.”

“It’s not my birthday yet,” Barrett said, sitting up. “Not until midnight.” 

“Are you gonna rules-lawyer me or get up and give me a hug?” Catherine’s voice was teasing but Barrett sprang up and rushed over to her. She smelled the same as ever, of laundry detergent and talcum powder and her favorite perfume. Lily of the valley. The smell of it brought tears to Barrett’s eyes, but he didn’t know why. 

“Mom,” he said when Catherine pulled back and gave him a quizzical look. “I have something to ask you — but I can’t remember what.”

“You’ve been staying up too late, burning the midnight oil,” Catherine said, patting his shoulder. She stepped back and examined him with a smile. “You’ve grown up so much lately. I’m so proud of you.”

“Mom … How old will I be today?” Barrett asked, frowning. His head ached. He was forgetting something important, but he couldn’t remember what. Catherine put a cool hand on his forehead. 

“Are you all right? Barrett Bear, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“None,” Barrett replied.

Catherine nodded thoughtfully. 

“Maybe your confusion is due to that hit you took on Friday — Coach Carr said you were fine, but what does he know? The last football game of the season and then the man disappears to Florida until fall. Should we go down and see your dad?”

“Don’t tell him I asked,” Barrett said softly. “Please, Mama.”

Catherine hesitated for a moment before she nodded. “All right. Well. To clear up your confusion — I hope — it’s your eighteenth birthday, honey. We’re having a birthday and graduation party for you later tonight. You got it now?”

“Yeah,” Barrett said, swallowing hard. “It’s all coming back to me now.”

*

Dad was outside, mowing the grass, by the time they got downstairs. Barrett had decided he wouldn’t show any outward signs of confusion. This had to be a dream — a more vivid, longer dream than the ones he was used to having, but a dream nonetheless. 

He sat at the kitchen table and chatted with Catherine about this and that. He learned that he was flying out to college by the end of that week, and Catherine was afraid that Barrett wouldn’t know how to furnish his dorm room properly.

“I don’t think I’ll really need those little fridges or anything,” Barrett was saying when John came in. He grinned at Catherine’s chipper greeting and seated himself at the table. Barrett found himself looking intently at the man who he had always considered his father. John Logan was a handsome man with greying brown hair and bright blue eyes. It was the eyes that should’ve tipped Barrett off, he thought. Basic stuff like that.

“Papa,” Barrett said, clearing his throat. “Sir. I need to talk to you about something. Would you be able to speak to me soon? Now, if we could.”

John raised his brows and looked over to Catherine, who was fussing over the coffee machine. She shrugged. “He’s been like this since he woke up. I think he’s just nervous about college.”

John turned his attention back to Barrett. It was like being mildly electrocuted, having his father examine him like that. It wasn’t exactly like a father looking at his son, but rather a prosecutor sizing up the defense.

Barrett shifted in his seat and felt keenly what so many other people must’ve felt, being cross-examined by his father. But he couldn’t falter. He was here for a reason, dreaming of this as a way to get answers for his own peace of mind.

“I want to ask you about Sandy Hyatt,” Barrett said. “My birth-mother.” 

“What about her?” John said. Catherine had stopped making coffee and turned to look at Barrett, her arms crossed across her chest.

“Well, sir,” Barrett said, “I’ve been doing some digging lately and I think you owe me an explanation about how you and Sandy agreed on this adoption. I’m an adult now and I can handle the truth.”

“I owe you something?” John said skeptically. “Young man, do you know where you are?”

“John,” Catherine said softly. “Maybe it is time to tell him.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” John snapped. “Except perhaps we could discuss Barrett’s disrespect here.” 

Outside, there was the sound of a car horn, and then steps and laughter on the porch. The doorbell rang and Barrett stood up from his seat and went for the door.

He wasn’t expecting to see both Moss and Marylee on the porch, with Marylee’s boyfriend waiting in the car. He listened numbly as the siblings chattered about finally getting a chance to go to the amusement park before the party.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go,” Barrett said as his parents came up behind him to see what the commotion was about.

“I told you,” Marylee said, digging her elbow into Moss’ side. Moss looked at Barrett pleadingly. He slung his arm around Barrett’s shoulder and leaned in. 

“Please, please, _please,_ don’t make me go to Dreamland with just my sister and her boyfriend for company. I’ll die.” 

“I really should stay here and help set up for the party,” Barrett protested. Moss groaned aloud.

“You can go ahead, Barrett,” said Catherine. “Just be back by five. The guests won’t be coming around for another hour and we want you looking your best.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Logan,” said Moss. “You know, I’ve devoted my entire high school career into getting Barrett here to loosen up, but it’s never worked.”

“You can speak to us when you get back, Barrett,” said John with a nod. “Don’t keep your friends waiting.” 

Barrett shook his head but let himself be dragged away. No use fighting against the tide.

*

Dreamland Park was built in 1923 as a white-only amusement paradise. The original owners decided to close it down in 1973 rather than integrate. 

Late in the eighties, it had opened again — ostensibly for all this time — but the rumors had it slated for permanent closure later in the year. Barrett didn’t quite mind it — Dreamland was creepy. Everything seemed to be brightly painted and cheerful, with the cloyingly sweet smell of cotton candy everywhere, but it didn’t take an especially perceptive person to sense the rot and disintegration beneath.

Moss clapped a hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s got into you lately, Bar, but would you please snap out of it? I’m worried about you, buddy. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Barrett said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. This wasn’t real, he reminded himself. The hurt and confused look in Moss’ eyes wasn’t real either. “Just don’t feel like it, I guess.”

“Do you want to go on the Hi-Roller?” Moss said, apparently deciding on a different tack. They’d left Marylee and her boyfriend to kiss on the Ferris wheel and were walking towards the old wooden roller coaster. The sounds of screams and the groan and pop of the coaster’s mechanisms could be heard from clean across the park. 

Half the pleasure and the terror from the old coaster came from the fear that it would fall apart when you were riding it. That was something that Barrett usually enjoyed, so he agreed to it, albeit reluctantly. 

Besides, he didn’t want to be a pain in the ass, even for a figment of his imagination. 

After the first drop, he was able to loosen up enough to enjoy himself. When Moss demanded they do it again, Barrett agreed. It felt good to scream himself hoarse.

The roller coaster did hold itself together for them, though the last hairpin turn felt like a close call, with Moss grabbing Barrett’s arm as they plunged downward into the dark. 

It was afterwards that Barrett spotted him. Walking the crowd, in that overly casual way that Barrett now recognized easily, was Declan. It didn’t make sense — if Declan was in this dream, he’d be a little kid, no more than twelve. But the man Barrett saw, walking through the crowd, was the Declan that Barrett knew. 

With only a mumbled apology to Moss, Barrett took off on a run. Crazy scenarios ran through his head. Maybe Declan was also dreaming the same dream as Barrett. Maybe together, they could find their way out… 

Declan walked into the Hall of Mirrors and for a moment, Barrett hesitated in his pursuit. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps — 

But no. He’d gone this far. He had to know. Barrett walked into the Hall of Mirrors with a shudder. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark, per se. Rather, the problem with the Dreamland Hall of Mirrors was that it was — clown themed.

Cheerful circus music played as he walked deeper into the corridor lined with funhouse mirrors. Despite everything, it seemed as though he was alone. The only thing he could see in front of him was his own reflection. 

Through some clever angles, it seemed that the mirror showed Barrett’s back. He frowned and reached forward, expecting to touch the cold surface of a mirror. Instead, he felt the warmth and solidity of flesh. Moreover, he felt someone touching his own shoulder.

The reflection was turning his head. Barrett’s terror rose. He knew he could not look his doppelgänger in the face for a second time. 

Barrett jerked backwards and slammed into another mirror. Suddenly, the lights flickered on. A little old lady toddled up behind him and asked if he was all right. 

Barrett blinked at her stupidly before nodding. “Did you see another guy in here?” he asked her. “Tall? In a white T-shirt and blue jeans? Curly hair?”

“Honey, you’re describing half my customers,” she said wearily. Barrett nodded and showed himself out. Outside, it was hot and muggy. Barrett looked around to see if he could catch sight of Declan — or Moss.

There — just in front of the concessions stand. He was there. Barrett reached him and grabbed his shoulder. The man turned sharply and Barrett found himself looking into the face of a stranger. 

The stranger gave him a quick once-over and scowled. “Hey, what’s the idea? You wanna fight, little boy?”

Barrett took a step back, alarmed. “No, no — sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“If you want to grab someone, I’ll grab you back,” said the man, taking a step toward him. The carnival music around Barrett seemed to increase in volume and his head began to spin. It was a sunny day — and muggy — but he felt the shiver of cold and the breath of antiseptic air. 

The stranger moved out the way when Barrett stumbled. “Hey, don’t faint when I’m fighting you —”

“Too late,” Barrett said as he toppled over. He couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, but when he came to, Moss was looking down at him, worry in his eyes. Another man stood over Moss and Barrett couldn’t help but grin. 

“Scotty, what’re you doing here?”

Scot was holding a giant pink stuffed animal under his arm. He was dressed all in white and seemed quite angelic. “Moss said you need to go home, Logan. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Barrett said as he got up with Moss’ help. “I’m so tired of Dreamland.”

*

It took a little time to track down Marylee and her boyfriend to let them know that they were going. Barrett lurched forward and clasped her hand briefly. “Marylee, I know we’re not that close anymore, but I want you to really think about it when Curt Holloway comes around. He’s an asshole, darling. Moss here agrees with me.”

“Hey!” Moss said loudly. Marylee gave him a confused look. Scot honked his horn and Barrett turned to flee.

When they were safely in Scot’s car, Barrett said, uncomfortably, “I know I spoke out of turn but he really _is_ an asshole.”

“I mean, I know,” Moss said. “He gave me a ticket once and I know it was for his quota, but you can’t change anyone’s mind like that.”

“What if I said I was from the future and I knew what would happen to all of you?” Barrett said suddenly. He lurched forward and batted the fuzzy dice dangling from Scot’s rear view mirror. He saw Moss and Scot exchange significant looks.

“He took a big hit last Friday. Coach Carr shouldn’t have sent him out,” Moss said under his breath. 

“I don’t know why that old bastard still has a job,” Scot replied. 

“I can hear you, you know,” Barrett said loudly. “I’m not going crazy.”

“Well, you have to work under time-travel rules, baby,” Scot said. “No one can know their future ahead of time. That’d ruin the suspense.”


	11. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Baby, now we've got bad blood._

By the time Barrett had gotten home and into the shower, he was feeling more and more human. The second the cold water hit his hot skin, he sighed out loud. It was like a blacksmith plunging a molten piece of iron into a barrel of water. 

He was making mistakes right and left and didn’t know how to fix any of it. He’d left Scot and Moss outside, talking to his father. He’d ignored the worried looks they all gave him. It couldn’t be helped.

His own memories of how this day had turned out the first time were vague and imprecise. It had been a pleasant day, except for the disruption of Sandy’s visit.

Barrett shook his head and sighed deeply. He knew what he had to do. When he got out of the shower, he dressed in the clothes his mother had laid out for him. He could hear the sounds of people arriving for the party and his parents greeting each and every one of them. 

Barrett took a deep breath and went downstairs. He felt a flicker of something as he stepped on the creaky board, but ignored it. He had a duty to do as the birthday boy, and he’d do it as best as he could.

The rumors of his erratic behavior seemed to have gotten around. People greeted him more gently than they usually did, and handled him with kid gloves. It would’ve annoyed the hell out of him if it was real — if he wasn’t waiting for Sandy to arrive.

Miss Fanshaw had gotten a hold of him in the meantime and was talking his ear off about the decade-long vendetta she had with the girl at the service desk at the Piggly Wiggly, where she had purchased the money order that was Barrett’s graduation gift. “I don’t know why Mr. Dewitt allows such behavior at his store! That girl was so rude to me that I nearly choked. Are you listening to me, Barrett?” 

“No ma’am,” Barrett said as he spotted the red Corvette come down the long driveway. He walked away, just as Miss Fanshaw gasped at his rudeness and called his mother to witness what her son had done. 

Barrett waited on the porch for the car to park. His father came up behind him and said, warningly, “This is supposed to be a happy day, Barrett. Don’t ruin it.” 

“I don’t aim to, sir,” Barrett replied, his eyes meeting his father’s. “I just want to know the truth.”

“You’re young,” his father said dismissively. “You still think there’s only one truth to learn.”

“You’ve been feeding me bullshit for a long time,” Barrett replied. His father stiffened his stance and looked at him, his eyes wide. 

“Who are you?” John asked and Barrett smiled, perhaps for the first time since he’d woken up. 

“The son you raised,” he said, going down the steps. He walked to the parked Corvette and opened the door for Sandy.

“Miss Sandy,” Barrett said, “it’s my birthday and I want you to celebrate with us.” He glanced at the backseat of the Corvette and nodded. “You too, Declan. Come on in.”

Sandy looked uncertain. She was a petite woman of thirty-five, with strawberry blonde hair and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were a brilliant Delft blue, very much like Barrett’s. She was startled by Barrett’s invitation but recovered quickly. She looked over at Declan and said, “What do you think, baby? It’s up to you.”

Declan had a Walkman seemingly cemented into his ears. He hunched into his jean jacket. He was a small brown kid with a mop of curly dark hair. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. “I don’t wanna stay, mama. Everyone’s old here.” 

“We have cake!” Barrett said, trying to sweeten the deal. “And I have a bunch of comics and baseball cards you can have — I’m gonna throw 'em out otherwise.”

“Don’t try to bribe me with your crap,” Declan said and Sandy told him, sharply, to mind his language. She looked at Barrett apologetically.

“I’m sorry, I guess we can’t stay. I brought you something — it’s not much, but you could have a nice lunch out of it. Oh! Wait a minute —” 

Sandy reached out and pulled an envelope out from the glove compartment. She handed it and the twenty-dollar bill over to Barrett.

Barrett looked down, puzzled. Inside the envelope was a couple of documents and also a slim blue notebook — he recognized it, of course. It was the same notebook he’d found in his father's safe deposit box. 

“I was going to mail this to you, but since you’re here…” Sandy looked wistful. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I do,” Barrett said. “More and more everyday. Is this your diary?” 

Before Sandy could respond, the envelope was plucked from Barrett’s hands by his father. John loomed over him for a moment before he turned his attention to Sandy.

“Alexandra,” said John with a stiff nod. “Nice to see you. How’s the boy?”

“Fine, we’re all fine,” Sandy said. “You know, no one else ever calls me Alexandra but you, John.”

“Well, that’s your name. Barrett won’t take up more of your afternoon. If you hold on a minute, Cathy’s bringing a cupcake for the boy.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Sandy said, but Catherine had just joined them. She tapped on the window on Declan’s side of the car and he rolled it down to take her proffered cupcake. Declan immediately licked off the cream cheese frosting, getting not an insignificant portion of it on his nose. 

Almost absentmindedly, Barrett touched his own face. “We’ve got the same nose. Have y’all noticed?”

“I’ll swing by and talk to you, Barrett,” Sandy assured him with a smile. “If that’s what you want to do, I’ve got stories for you.”

“Barrett’s off to college by the end of the week,” John said flatly. “This old place won’t hold him back.”

Barrett glanced at him. “I’ll always come back.”

Softly, Sandy said, “But that would be a mistake.”

There was a brief bubble of silence in between Barrett and his parents. They watched each other with cautious eyes until Declan cut into it by pulling off his headphones and asking Sandy if they could go now.

Of course, they could. 

It wasn’t until the car was driving away that Barrett caught sight of Declan looking back at him, a strange expression on his face. He was going to hate him more than ever, Barrett thought. And though it was a dream — it had to be a dream — that made him sad.

John had taken off like a shot towards the house after Sandy had left, but Catherine still lingered. Barrett caught her gaze and said, “Mom, I think I’ve done something bad.”

“Is someone hurt, pregnant or dead?” was Catherine’s instant reply. Barrett blinked in surprise. He shook his head. 

“Not that I know of,” he said. They were walking back to the house. She put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed. 

“Bad things can be fixed, if you want them to be. It’s all up to you, Barrett.” 

“I guess so,” he said reluctantly. Catherine looked at him critically. 

“But tell me truthfully, you _didn’t_ get some poor girl pregnant, did you?”

“Mom, I’m a virgin,” Barrett said with a half-smile. It was true for the time, anyway. Catherine laughed, half in relief and half in sympathy. 

*****

The cake was Barrett’s favorite — yellow cake with chocolate frosting, painstakingly decorated with silver dragées and a buttercream cap and gown. In bold white letters across the cake were the words: “ _TO BARRETT’S FUTURE!”_

There were eighteen candles to be blown out. In the darkness, Barrett looked around to see the faces of almost everyone he knew and loved looking back at him in the flickering light. He wished he could feel even a flicker of the happiness he’d felt the first time around.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be oblivious anymore, and that hurt more than it should. 

“Cut the cake, Barrett!” cried out Marylee. 

“He has to blow out the candles first, silly,” said Moss. “Don’t leave it too late, bud.”

“Where’s the cake knife?” asked Catherine, looking around for the knife that rested on the plate on the other side of the cake. 

“Make a wish,” Scot said. Barrett closed his eyes and wished to wake up again and blew out the candles.

Then it was time to pluck off the candles and cut the cake. “Who wants the first slice?” Barrett asked, holding up Grandma Mabel’s antique cake knife. 

“Give it to your daddy,” Miss Fanshaw said and Barrett obliged. He cut off a nice corner piece and offered it to John, who waved it away. 

“Too sweet for me, thanks,” John said and Barrett frowned at him. That made no sense. His father loved sweet things. He had always taken the Tootsie rolls from Barrett’s trick or treat haul every year without complaint.

“Come on, Dad. You love sugar,” Barrett said with a half-smile. “Just take it.” 

“No, I don’t want it. Give it to one of your friends or your mother.”

“Just take the fucking cake, Dad,” Barrett snapped. A hush fell across the room. Every pair of eyes bore holes into his head. Barrett felt the extraordinary urge to laugh.

He stepped back for a moment and surveyed the scene. His parents looked shocked, Moss and Scot looked faintly amused, and Miss Fanshaw looked oddly — pleased.

Barrett wasn’t done yet. He reached out and grabbed a hunk of cake and scooped it up, leaving the antique cake knife stuck inside the body of the cake.

“Barrett! What are you doing?” Catherine asked, outraged. “You know I drove fifty miles to get that cake from Publix. What’s gotten into you?”

“I wonder…” Miss Fanshaw said in a stage whisper. 

Barrett took the crumb-strewn cake knife and pointed it at her.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Miss Fanshaw. I know you’re going to say it’s because I’m adopted and no one knows whether my blood’s good or bad. 

"But I bet every goddamn person here has always known John Logan here is my _real_ father. So fuck all that. If it’s bad blood I have, he gave it to me.”

He pushed the knife back into the maimed body of the cake and dropped his fistful of frosting onto the plate.

“Barrett, go upstairs and to your room,” John said, his voice low and controlled. Nothing could hide his fury, however. “This party’s over. We’ll discuss your punishment tomorrow.”

“I won’t be here tomorrow,” Barrett replied back, leaving the room. He felt lighter now than he had for a long time. He felt a huge smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 

As he climbed the steps, he avoided the creaking step and smiled at the people who were filing out of the house.

“Barrett, are you… okay?” Marylee asked as she and Moss waited downstairs for their ride. Barrett shook his head cheerfully.

“Nope, I’m not,” he said with a wave. “Goodnight, Marylee. See ya, Moss. Take care.”


	12. Sweet Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess I’ll need you to teach me how to be a real Southern gentleman."
> 
> CW: sexual assault.

In his room, Barrett’s triumph turned into ashes. He washed his hands multiple times to get the stickiness of the frosting off. He tried to not to stare at the reflection of his younger self too hard. It wasn’t going to help. 

When he got out of the bathroom, he spotted the water mark on the ceiling again. It seemed bigger than before, although he didn’t know why it should be. It had been dry as dust that day. On impulse, he climbed on the bed and reached for it. 

But the ceilings were high in his room and he couldn’t quite reach it. He stared at it more intensely. Had it always looked like a face?

“I’m losing it,” Barrett said to himself. From outside, he could hear the sound of wheels on gravel. People were leaving the party. It struck him that he could hitch a ride from someone and get away for a while. That seemed like a good idea. 

Barrett got down from the bed and opened the window. The cool night rushed into the room. He had gotten out this way before, but it wasn’t easy. One false step and he could plummet down two stories and into his mother’s prize rose bush. 

After one last look around the room where he had spent so much of his time, growing up, Barrett crawled out of the window. 

Inch by inch, he made his way down the roof of the porch and then swung down on it, startling the person having a smoke there.

“Holy _shit_ , Barrett,” said Roche, crushing his cigarette on the white paint of the railing. Barrett shook his head.

“Mom’s going to be pissed if she sees what you just did, Roche.” 

Roche rolled his eyes and grabbed Barrett, who had been dangling carelessly on the ledge, and pulled him into the porch. Roche’s jacket smelled like smoke and a nice cologne. Barrett leaned against it for a moment, taking it in. 

They were on the side porch, shielded from the windows that faced out front. Barrett stepped back and examined Roche critically. He was a year younger than Sandy, but unlike everyone else, Roche hadn’t changed much from now to then. 

His hair was darker than before, that was true. And he was looking at Barrett like he was a perplexing case to be figured out. He must’ve come late — Barrett remembered vaguely that he had been late last time too — but judging from his serious expression, he’d already been informed about what happened.

“I need to get out of here,” Barrett said bluntly. “Are you going to help me?” 

Roche grinned. “Of course. Anything for you, Barrett.” 

It was then Barrett felt a splat of something wet and ripe-smelling hit the back of his jacket. He turned around in time to see a small figure hunched over a Huffy mountain bike, pedaling furiously down the driveway. Barrett raced after him, shouting. 

“You little shit! Get back here and apologize!”

Declan looked back and sneered. “Eat me, asshole!” But this little bit of bravado cost him — he rode into a flower pot and almost lost his balance. Barrett almost reached him. But Declan was fast — he scrambled back on to his bike and zipped away.

Unfortunately, he left his prize possession — a brand new Sony Walkman Sport, with its headphones wrapped tightly around itself — on the gravel of the driveway. 

Barrett bent down and retrieved it. He took off his spoiled jacket — Declan had thrown a peach at him; where would a kid even find a rotten peach at this time of night? That was just wasteful.

With a sigh, Barrett made his way back to Roche, who was leaning against the porch and taking in the scene. 

“Now I _really_ want to leave,” Barrett said. They left Barrett’s ruined jacket and Declan’s Walkman on the rocking chair in the front porch, where it couldn’t be missed, and left. 

There were certain fixed events that could not be avoided, Barrett realized as Roche peeled out of his parents’ driveway. No matter how he pushed against it, he had to go to Dreamland, Sandy always chose to go, and — he guessed Roche would always give him a drink. At least, that was what he assumed would happen.

“That kid has really good aim,” Roche said conversationally. “He should try out for the baseball team or something.”

“That little brat,” Barrett muttered. “He biked five miles just to throw a peach at me. For what? Because he was jealous his mom paid a second’s worth of attention to me?”

“You’re an only child,” Roche said with a grin. “That kind of lunacy is rampant among siblings, believe me.”

“I guess,” Barrett replied and they lapsed into silence. It was nearly midnight now and the roads were dark except for dense banks of mist. 

“I hope you don’t mind me taking you home,” Roche said. “You’re still too young to bring anywhere really interesting.” He gave Barrett a quick sideways glance.

“I’ve been to Cecil’s,” Barrett said, trying to imply that nothing else would surprise him. Roche grinned, his white teeth visible in the dimness.

“I’m very impressed with your sophistication.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” Barrett replied wearily.

“If you say so. Barrett, I’ve heard you had quite an interesting day,” Roche said. There was a certain timbre in his voice that Barrett found soothing. He found himself nodding. 

“Depends on what you’ve heard,” Barrett replied. 

Roche hemmed and hawed, tapping his steering wheel. “Your parents are worried about you. There was quite a to-do when you cut the cake, apparently.”

“I don’t want to get into it,” Barrett replied, as he focused his attention on the road. It was a misty night and he was startled to see a figure of a young woman in white on the road. He glanced over at Roche, but Roche didn’t seem to see her. 

When Barrett looked back he saw that the young woman was — _Lily_. 

He saw Lily just the same as if she was standing in front of him. Her jet-black hair was cut in a new way, a blunt bob that went to her ears. She was wearing a large white sweater with only the tips of her fingers visible. He felt as though her fingers brushed against his face. “Come back to us, Barrett,” she said. Her voice was as clear as a bell. Only Barrett heard her.

Roche drove through her and didn’t even blink. 

When Barrett turned back, he saw nothing there. The empty road told Barrett nothing but he knew what was happening now. “I’m in a coma.”

He’d said that aloud. Roche had stopped talking and was staring at him. Barrett met his gaze and grinned hugely. “Think what you want, Roche. None of this is real.”

“Glad to hear it,” Roche said. “I appreciate the cold hard truth as much as anyone.” 

They were close to Roche’s antique shop. Barrett was surprised to hear that Roche actually stayed in the apartment upstairs — he’d either sold the house he’d had or hadn’t bought it yet. They entered through the closed store, which was dimly lit by Christmas lights. It gave everything an eerie look. 

Barrett paused in front a gorgeous rendered dollhouse that looked exactly like Halcyon in its prime. It had been placed in a display near the cash register. He couldn’t imagine anyone ever having the means to actually buy it.

“Not for sale?” he asked when Roche came back from checking in the back. Roche shook his head.

“Everything’s for sale if the price is high enough. Come upstairs?”

“All right,” Barrett said easily. He followed Roche up the stairs, pausing to look back over the shop floor. He could see strange and sinister shapes wrapped tightly around some of the most beautiful things in the store, but that, he decided, shouldn’t concern him. 

As soon as he was let into Roche’s apartment, Barrett laid himself on the leather couch, appreciating the coolness of it against his skin. 

He watched Roche make their drinks and thought about what was happening. Why had he fallen into a coma? Could he get himself to wake again? Did this dream mean anything, or was it just one last struggle of his dying brain? 

Despite all the furious thoughts that were hurtling through his brain, Barrett knew he had to ask questions. He would never have this chance again. Roche gave him his tumbler of whiskey and they toasted to the future and to themselves. Barrett took a deep swig of his drink and winced. 

Roche clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Slow down, Barrett. Consider that you’re holding cut crystal, not a red Solo cup.” 

“I guess I’ll need you to teach me how to be a real Southern gentleman,” Barrett said ruefully. 

Roche chuckled. “Don’t tempt me.”

He seemed to consider it and bent down to caress Barrett’s forehead. “And don’t be so eager to be a gentleman. You’ve got a few more years to mess around.”

“You’re still messing around,” Barrett pointed out. Roche grinned at him. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you why in a few years.” 

“You shouldn’t underestimate me. I know why,” Barrett replied. 

Roche looked at him, his face tentative. “And you hate me for it? Can’t look up to me now, can you?”

“No! Why do people just assume I’m an asshole?” Barrett demanded. Roche gave him a lopsided smile.

“It’s because you’re very young and inexperienced. But you’re right, it’s wrong to underestimate you.” 

“I’m not really — I don’t deserve any praise right now,” Barrett said miserably. 

Roche put a hand on Barrett’s shoulder and massaged it. “You look like you have a secret. Would it feel better to tell it?”

“It’s not a secret anymore. I told everyone at the party. That’s why I was banished upstairs.”

“Barrett, I know you’re having a time of it…”

“You were friends with her, weren’t you? Sandy Hyatt. When you were in high school.”

Roche drew back and seemed to consider it. “Did she tell you something?” 

“She gave me a notebook — a diary — but Dad took it. I couldn’t ask in front of them.” Barrett shook his head, frustrated at himself. He should have forged ahead. He should have just snatched the notebook back. 

“Look,” Barrett said strongly, “I know it was him. Dad. I found my original birth certificate. He’s listed as my _biological_ father. That means he _raped_ her when she was sixteen.”

Roche was completely still. 

“She was my friend,” Roche said guardedly. “I liked her fine but I wasn’t interested in dating her — or anyone, for that matter. I guess I might’ve been the one to introduce John to her. He was in charge of my father’s estate, you know. I was in and out of his office all that summer. Might’ve brought Sandy one day. Maybe it was my fault… ”

“I don’t know,” Barrett said. “You two were kids. He wasn’t.” 

Roche massaged his temples. “You don’t know — the seventies were perhaps the last time people could treat teenagers as less than human. You’d be disgusted how common this all was.”

“Did you… know?”

“No,” Roche said quickly. “I would never have left her alone with him if I knew.”

“I wanted to know if my mom knew. I can’t imagine that she did. She’s the best person I know. If she could have stood by when this happened, I —”

Roche clasped Barrett’s hand. “There’s no doubt in my mind that she never knew. Why would she?”

“How could she not?” Barrett shot back. “I don’t want to believe it…” 

“Must’ve stung, if she knew. I know they tried for a baby for a long time. Imagine if your husband goes out and gets a girl pregnant and brings you the child. Wouldn’t it be maddening to know that? Wouldn’t it just _hurt_?”

A wave of anxiety hit Barrett. He set the glass on the floor and clutched his head for a moment. Was he trying to wake up? Shouldn’t he be trying harder? 

“I guess it’s better not to know that hurt,” Barrett muttered. He leaned back against the couch. He felt extraordinarily tired and sleepy. He didn’t know if it was because his body wasn’t used to alcohol — or if it was something else.

He glanced over at Roche, who had a strange look of amusement on his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Barrett asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking of how stupid I was, thinking you wanted to get out of there for — another reason. But you have actual trauma to work out. I’m not disappointed, just surprised at my own self-absorption.”

Barrett turned his head for a moment. His tiredness seemed to be growing by the minute. “So my — friend was right. You _do_ want to sleep with me.”

“Which friend is this? Scotty? He’s a gossip and busybody. Don’t listen to him.”

“I’d say he knows his shit, wouldn’t you?” Barrett replied with a grin. He hesitated for a moment and said, earnestly, “I wouldn’t mind it, tonight. I don’t think you’re looking for a relationship, are you? Neither am I. We could come to an understanding.” 

Roche put a cool hand on Barrett’s forehead. He leaned in and kissed Barrett softly. Barrett reached out and gripped Roche’s collar, ruining the crispness of his shirt. 

“Your daddy was right,” Roche said when he pulled away. “You are different tonight.” 

“I’ve grown up,” Barrett declared. He felt his eyelids being pulled closed. This tiredness wasn’t natural — and it wasn’t how he usually reacted to alcohol. The realization hit him all at once. He sat bolt upright and stared at Roche.

“You _fucker_ ,” he whispered. “Why did you…”

“I’m getting a little tired of all of this,” Roche declared. He put his hand on his face and he was observing Barrett with interest that no longer seemed benign. 

“I was going to — you didn’t _need_ to —”

Roche rose from his seat and stretched. He looked at him, pityingly. “Oh, sweet boy. It doesn’t matter what you decided to do.” 

Barrett lost consciousness then, absolutely filled with fury at both Roche and himself. And he knew, without a doubt, all of this had happened before.


	13. Wake-up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett has a rude awakening and gets stuck in an elevator.

Barrett woke up some time later in Roche’s bed. He was naked and Roche was nowhere in sight. _Fuck._ His head was clearing but still ached. _He_ ached, as if his body had been thrown into a compactor. 

He grabbed a shirt that was hanging on a hook and pulled it over his head. The kitchen was only down the hall from Roche’s bedroom. Barrett took a butcher knife from the drawer and went to look for Roche.

He didn’t seem to be anywhere in the apartment, so Barrett went downstairs to the shop. Everything seemed much less charming now than it had been when he’d come here with his mother. He walked toward the dollhouse of Halcyon. There was a doorway open in the subterranean portions of the house. The darkness of the door throbbed and extended its malevolent influence out into the world.

Barrett bent down and wondered — 

The phone on the counter began to ring. Barrett glanced at the clock. It showed three o’clock. No one could be calling about antiques at three o’clock in the morning. The phone kept ringing. When Barrett glanced over at the display, he saw that it was his parents’ number. He put the knife down and picked up the phone. 

The line crackled loudly and he couldn’t make out what the person was saying on the other end. “Hello, mom? Is that you?”

“Of course not, dumbass,” snapped Declan. Barrett relaxed for a moment, hearing his voice. “Stop wasting time and wake up. Do you hear me? Wake up, Barrett. I’m tired of waiting for you. I need you.”

“Declan,” Barrett said, clutching the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how to get out of here. You have to help me. What am I supposed to do?” 

The crackle worsened until he could only make out the end of Declan’s words. “Just come home.” 

“ _I want to_ ,” Barrett said desperately. “I just don’t know how…” 

The line went dead. Disheartened, Barrett put the receiver back on the cradle. As soon as he did so, he felt a huge jerk, like something had hit him on the back. There was a belt around his neck and it was tightening around him. He struggled, trying to free himself, his fingers scratching desperately against the leather. 

But the belt was too tight and he was losing his breath. He reached out blindly for the knife, but in his panic, he knocked it over. He heard it clatter on the ground. 

It took longer to be strangled to death than he would've thought. It wasn’t like in the movies at all. 

*

Barrett woke up with a shout and to the frantic beeping of machines. He was in a hospital and he was alive. Tentatively, he touched his neck but he couldn’t feel the raw burn of a belt against it. It had been a dream. Just a dream.

A nurse came in with his chart. He immediately clocked the fact that Barrett was awake and alerted the staff. The next few hours of Barrett’s life were consumed by tests and doctors and nurses coming in and out of his room. He learned that he was in Atlanta and he’d been in a coma for a week. He’d fallen into a coma due to brain swelling brought on by his car accident and possibly some kind of infection. 

Barrett wasn’t really paying attention to any of these explanations. Instead, he kept asking for Declan, but no one seemed to know who he was referring to. “My brother,” he kept saying. He wondered if he was speaking a foreign language for all the strange looks people were giving him. “Declan Hyatt? He must’ve visited me during this time.”

“We don’t have anyone like that on your list of visitors,” said a nurse. “Now, sir, please keep still.”

“Then where the hell is he?” Barrett demanded, but there was no answer to that. 

But it turned out he did have visitors — one special visitor, in fact. Lily came down that afternoon, still in her scrubs — as it happened, this was the hospital she also worked at. Barrett felt overwhelmed, guilt and relief fighting for control of his emotions. He swallowed hard. “Hey, Lils.”

Lily gave him a small smile and came up to him, checked his pulse. “I’m alive,” he assured her and she shook her head. 

“Do you know what a shock I had when Roche called me and told me you were in the hospital? Barrett, please don’t joke about it, you did almost die.” 

“Roche called you?” Barrett asked tonelessly. “I didn’t know he even had your number.” 

“Are you quarreling with him?” Lily asked skeptically, but Barrett shook his head. He didn’t know how much of his dream was real memories and what was invention, but he was convinced that Roche did not mean him well — perhaps he never had. 

It was a slow and painful process, getting out of the hospital for the second time. Barrett had a chance to take a look at his visitor’s log before he was discharged; along with Moss and Marylee (who had been responsible for the stuffed bear and some of the flowers that decorated the room), Roche had stopped by with more flowers and then — 

_John Logan_ , it said, in Declan’s handwriting. “You asshole,” Barrett said to himself and shook his head. He couldn’t understand Declan at all. He knew that his brother hated hospitals, but there was no reason to use a false name. It was over the top and unnecessary. The whole thing made Barrett feel more tired and angry. But he couldn’t do a thing about it until he saw Declan again. 

Barrett was eventually discharged from the hospital into Lily’s care, or rather to Lily’s apartment, which was about a mile or so from the hospital. Barrett had stayed there before — he still had a drawer dedicated to his clothes. Lily lived in The Briars, which had once been a Jazz Age hotel that had attracted some of the best and brightest of society, before it crumbled into disrepair and mismanagement in the latter half of the twentieth century. 

Despite its troubles, the place was still beautiful — the lobby was lined with marble and wrought iron railings up a grand staircase, to rows of Art Deco-style elevators going up to the twentieth floor. The elevators were loud and tended to shake abnormally as they pulled people up to the penthouse suites. 

Even in the middle of the night, Barrett could hear those elevators going up and down the shafts, the faint ringing as the floors were reached and then passed. But he didn’t have any reason to listen for the elevators — his life was quickly getting back to normal. He took his medications, as he promised Lily he would, and tried to think of what he could do from here. 

Lily wanted him to go see a therapist, but Barrett hadn’t yet found anyone who meshed with him well. Or rather, he hadn’t found anyone he could tell his secrets to without having them run screaming in the other direction. It was a delicate process, but Barrett was embarrassed to admit that he might even need therapy. He didn’t tell this to Lily — Lily was a modern girl, who took her weekly sessions with her therapist, Patrice, very seriously. 

When Barrett asked if he could see Patrice as well, Lily had stared at him for a moment before she said it would be a bad idea. “Although Pat’s really pushing for us to start couple’s therapy,” she said. “I think that’s a good idea. But we need to find you a person first.” 

“My parents used to say that the best therapy came from the church,” Barrett said.

“...Right,” Lily said.

Barrett continued. “Yeah. But I’ve begun to see a lot wrong with their particular world-view. Also, I really don’t want to go back to church.” 

“There you go,” Lily said cheerfully. “That’s growth if I’ve ever heard it.” 

In addition to looking for help to tame the chaos in his head, Barrett was also typing up new resumes to send out, as well as teaching himself how to cook meals for Lily when she came back from work. 

The first couple of times hadn’t exactly been a success, although Lily was far too polite to say anything. But Barrett quickly learned the basics, like how important seasonings were. 

Sometimes, they would just go out for dinner and drinks. That, Barrett liked most of all. He tried to make an effort for Lily and he thought that effort was very mutual. They didn’t really talk about the past few months — instead, it seemed like they were just going on as before. 

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Barrett said as they were coming home from the bar, arms around each other. The elevators were rattling downwards toward them. “You’re cuter than a bug’s ear, as my mom used to say.” 

“You’re the cute one,” Lily replied as the elevator opened. There was only one other person in the elevator besides them — a young woman, dressed as a flapper, with a white fox stole around her neck. The small space of the elevator was filled with the smell of perfume and smoke.

Barrett and Lily were necking on their side of the elevator, while the girl kept to herself. She sighed and lit up another cigarette. 

Just above her head was a no smoking sign. Barrett gestured toward it and said, apologetically, “You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”

Lily looked at him curiously. “Who are you talking to?” 

The woman winked at him. “She can’t see me, sugar.” Then she disappeared. 

Barrett shook his head sharply. He was getting sick of seeing all these goddamn ghosts. He couldn’t even blame this one on a hallucination this time. He turned his attention back to Lily, who was clearly concerned about him. He kissed her deeply before she could ask another question. “I was talking nonsense,” he said with a smile when they pulled apart.

Lily shook her head. “You know that I’m _really_ worried about you, don’t you?” 

“I do,” Barrett said ruefully. “I’m sorry to do all this to you.”

“Barrett, we have to talk,” Lily said, when the elevator shuddered and ground to a stop. The lights flickered and then went out. Somewhere in the building, the fire alarm started to ring and then cut off.

“Fuck,” Barrett said. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

Lily looked tense and unhappy, but she shook her head. Barrett pushed the emergency call button and waited for the operator to pick up. It was a Friday night, after hours, so it took some time before it connected. As they waited to hear a human voice, a recorded one droned around them, telling them to keep calm.

Finally, through the crackle of a bad line, the operator asked where they were and what the issue was. Barrett told them their location and the number of their elevator, and what floor they seemed to be stuck on — between the twelfth and fourteenth — which was their floor. The Briars didn’t have a thirteenth floor. 

The operator said that a maintenance man would be out there in thirty minutes or so. Then the line went dead.

With a sigh, Barrett turned to Lily. “Guess we’ll have to cool our heels for a while. Do you want to sit down?”

Lily glanced down at the floor and Barrett took off his jacket and laid it on the floor for her. She sat down on one edge and patted the spot next to her. He sat down and asked if her heels had begun to hurt. She said yes and he took them off for her. 

“The lights are off,” he said lightly. “We could have sex in here and no one would be the wiser.” 

Lily raised an eyebrow. “That would be a really bad idea. It’s pretty unsanitary down here.” 

Abashed, Barrett conceded that she was right. They sat in silence for five more minutes before Lily clicked her tongue impatiently and shifted until she was straddling him. “If we make it quick, it won’t matter as much.” 

“Is that your medical opinion, doc?” 

“Yes.” 

You’re amazing,” Barrett said in between kisses. He squeezed her breasts reverently and nudged her upwards so she could stand, leaning against the handrail of the elevator. He pushed up her dress — a pretty chiffon number, black with red flowers printed on it — and pulled down her panties. He pressed his face against her slit and breathed in her scent. 

“Hurry,” Lily muttered, her fingers clutching at his hair. He licked her slit and pressed his tongue inside her. He could do this for hours, he thought. He liked to take his time when it came to eating Lily out, letting it stretch out for an hour. It was something to savor. 

But they did have only a little time. Barrett thought he heard the sound of keys rattling on the other side of the door. With a regretful sigh, he pulled his head back and straightened out Lily’s dress. By the time the Otis mechanic had opened the door, both he and Lily were quite presentable. Even so, the mechanic gave them both an amused look. 

“Friday night’s no time to be stuck in an elevator,” he drawled. 

Barrett nodded vehemently. “Thanks man, you really saved our night.” 

Lily gave him a sweet smile and they walked all the way to their door before Barrett realized that he’d left her panties on the floor. “Should I go back and get it?” he whispered to her. It didn’t seem right to talk about it aloud. 

“No!” Lily hissed back. “As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t belong to me anymore.” 

And that was that. 


	14. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Should we get it?” Barrett drummed his fingers on the top of the tape. “This Southern Gothic porno murder classic?”

It was on Sunday that Lily drove Barrett back to Bell Union. She didn’t want to do it and said so — “It would be more convenient for keeping your doctor’s appointments if you stayed in Atlanta. Driving two hours each way is a huge waste of time.” 

There was nothing he could say to refute that, except, “I left a lot of things unfinished out there. Plus, I have to see if the dog’s all right. Declan hasn’t picked up any of my calls. I figure that he’s split, but I don’t know if he took Rabbit with him.” 

Lily glanced over at him. “You really think he didn’t take the dog if he left?” 

“No,” Barrett said, sinking into the passenger seat. “I guess I have to — face my demons, somehow. Lily, I do have to tell you something.” 

“You cheated,” Lily said, her eyes fixed on the road. “That’s what you wanted to tell me, right?” 

Barrett stared at her, his mouth falling open a little. “How did you know?” 

“Barrett, we were basically separated for six months and I didn’t hear from you at all. I figured something went wrong.” 

The countryside flashed before them, with gently rolling hills interrupted by an occasional copse of trees. It was September now and there was an autumnal feeling in the air, though the leaves didn’t turn orange so much as they merely fell out. 

“I’m a piece of shit,” Barrett said flatly. “You can keep the ring if you want, I understand completely.” 

“Are you kidding me? Didn’t you tell me this belonged to your mom?” Lily drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Shit. This is such a mess.”

“Yeah,” Barrett agreed miserably. He wanted to put his head in his hands, but knew that would be an unnecessarily dramatic gesture to pull in the passenger seat of Lily’s 1996 Honda Accord. 

Finally, Lily asked, “Is she married?” 

“No,” Barrett said. “Listen, we don’t have to keep talking about it. I want you to keep the ring. We can figure everything else out later.” 

“I’m fine with talking about it,” Lily said. “I feel perfectly fine talking about it. You know, I didn’t want to move down here before. I thought I would have a horrible time. And sometimes, it was horrible! You’d think some of my patients have never seen an Asian-American woman before, because they haven’t! But I don’t regret coming down here. Meeting people. I don’t really. So. There.” 

“You put yourself out there and I never really thanked you for it,” Barrett acknowledged. “I’m so sorry for it.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t have agreed if it wasn’t a good opportunity. Don’t flatter yourself that much.” 

“Yeah,” Barrett echoed faintly. “You know, I thought this conversation would be harder than this.” 

Lily flashed him a brief smile. “Emotional vulnerability is hard, darling. But it’s worth doing.” 

“I do love you,” Barrett told her fervently. 

“Oh shut up, Barrett,” Lily replied. “I’m really not in the mood.”

Both of them lapsed into silence and Barrett reflected that Lily was now the person he had known the longest and trusted the most. And he had exploded their relationship within a blink of an eye. He hated himself for his carelessness and stupidity. 

After fifteen miles of this, Lily murmured that they should stop and get gas. There was a truck stop, Lovett’s, down the highway, so they got off at the next exit. 

In the midst of getting out to pump gas, Lily asked with careful casualness, “Is that why you want to go back? To see her?” 

“No,” Barrett said quickly. “I’m going to end it as soon as I get back. Lily, I want to be a better man for you.”

“Great,” Lily said unenthusiastically. “Do you want a cookie or something? Or a hot dog?”

Barrett’s stomach growled and he nodded. The truck stop was one of the large, expansive ones that sought to provide its visitors with almost everything they could possibly want. There was the long line for the McDonald’s and even the Subway, so they both drifted toward the main shop, and there, among the rows of junk food and knickknacks, there was a beaded curtain, with a sign that advertised _Adult Novelties_ behind it. Barrett raised his brow and looked over to Lily. 

“Do you want to check it out?” he asked her. He hadn’t meant for it to be a challenge but Lily got a competitive look in her eye and nodded.

There wasn’t much to see — just a rack of dusty VHS tapes and a wall of vibrators and dildos. Barrett pulled out a tape at random and was delighted by the title. 

“ _Hard Man Is Good to Find_?” Barrett said, showing the box to Lily. He read the log line: “ _When a vacationing family picks up a mysterious hitchhiker, who knows what sparks will fly between the step-grandmother and The Misfit?_ ”

“Who writes this stuff?” Lily asked, examining a harness for a strap-on. 

“Should we get it?” Barrett drummed his fingers on the top of the tape. “This Southern Gothic porno murder classic?” 

“Sure,” Lily replied. It was then other customers came in and gave them some hard looks. Barrett and Lily skittered back into the main part of the store, bought their snacks and the tape, and headed back on the road.

Barrett put the tape in the glove compartment and immediately forgot about it.

*

The house was empty when they got there. When Barrett opened the door, the old, stale air rushed out past them. There had been a stack of newspapers and mail in the mailbox at the top of the driveway. Barrett had half-expected Declan not to be here, but the reality of it was harder to accept.

Rabbit’s food bowl was empty. The dog was nowhere to be found. 

“I can’t believe he took the dog,” Barrett muttered to himself. 

Lily yawned. “Maybe he’s staying over at a friend’s place? It’s better to take the dog than to leave her alone, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Barrett said grudgingly. But something about the quietness and stillness of the house bothered him. But Lily was tired and so was he. There were leftovers in the fridge, but he didn’t know how old they were and it was far too late in the day to call for takeout. 

Instead, Barrett made them a simple omelet for dinner and Lily watched his progress. If Barrett was a beginner in the kitchen, Lily wasn’t one to even try. She lived off takeout and cafeteria meals and that worked fine for her. Barrett began to tell her about how easily and expertly Declan cooked things.

“You guys got to know each other pretty well,” Lily said, her chin in her hand. 

“We had a lot of catching up to do,” Barrett replied. “He’s an interesting guy. Full of surprises.” 

“I hope I can meet him soon,” Lily said. 

Barrett nodded. “You will.” 

*

Barrett hadn’t dreamed a single night since his coma, but in the middle of the night he jerked awake from nothing he could remember. He left Lily sleeping in his bed and went over to Declan’s room. The bed was as messy as he would have expected, but more importantly — all of Declan’s things were still there. 

He sat heavily on his bed, trying to make sense of it all. As he stared up at the stain on the wall, he wondered if things would ever get back to normal. But now, he knew, normal included Declan. 

He had to find out where Declan had gone. 

The next morning, Monday, was given over to showing Lily the improvements he’d made to the house and also going down the phone tree of people who might know of Declan’s whereabouts. Barrett’s first try was also his longest shot — Elisha’s dorm at Princeton. He had found the number among the mess of Declan’s things upstairs. The call went through and rang and rang. Barrett was about to give up when the receiver was snatched up.

“Hello?” said a breathless female voice. “This is Natalie at Forbes. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, this is Barrett Logan. May I speak to Elisha Coleridge?” 

“Hold on,” said Natalie, “I’ll see if she’s in.” 

Barrett waited for perhaps five minutes until Elisha finally came on the line. She greeted him cautiously. She obviously had no idea why he would be calling her. Barrett’s stomach sank. It was probably useless, then. 

But still, he had to try. “Elisha? Hi, this is Barrett. Declan Hyatt’s brother? I don’t know if you remember me…”

“Barrett, of course I remember you,” said Elisha. “God, when the RA told me someone was calling from a Georgia number, I really thought my grandma had died or something… I think she said your name was Barnett or something.”

“I’m sure I almost was. Your grandma’s fine. Elisha, this is a weird question, I know, but has Declan been in contact with you recently? Did he have any plans to visit you?”

“No,” Elisha said, startled. “I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks, actually. I think he must be seeing someone new, he usually gets wrapped up in that kind of thing and makes himself scarce. But no, we didn’t plan for him to come up.”

“Shit,” Barrett said, wrapping the phone cord tighter around his finger. “I think Declan’s missing. I would’ve thought he just took off, but his stuff is still here. Do you know who I can call around here — he might be staying with someone? He took my dog, so that person probably has a yard or something.”

“That doesn’t sound like Declan,” Elisha said. “He’s usually good about leaving a note if he’s going somewhere for a while.” Then Elisha gave Barrett a list of Declan’s friends and acquaintances who would’ve been willing to put up with him and a dog. The list was unsurprisingly short. 

“Call me when you find him,” Elisha said at the end. “I’ve told him so many times to come up here. I’ve always been afraid of something happening to him.”

“We don’t know that something has,” Barrett reminded her gently. Elisha snorted loudly and in the background Barrett could hear someone saying that her time was up. He realized that this must have been a strange conversation to be having in the middle of a residence hall lobby. 

“I will find him,” Barrett promised before he let her go. “I promise you that.” He hoped he wasn’t lying. 

By the afternoon, Barrett had gone through the list of Declan’s friends. No one had seen him after Friday night. He hadn’t shown up Saturday for work or on Sunday for a hangout with his high school friends. For all intents and purposes, Declan had disappeared.

In between Barrett’s increasingly anxious calls, Lily had come in and out of the room before she settled into the couch in front of Barrett.

“You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Lily said. Barrett sighed. 

“He’s nineteen. He’s reckless, hotheaded and always thinks he’s right. If something happened to him, I don’t know — I’d feel responsible.”

“Before, it hardly registered that you even had a brother. What changed?”

“He’s the only family I have left,” Barrett said. “Besides you, I mean. Not that — not that you and he are comparable or anything. I’m just —”

“Barrett.” Lily reached out and touched his arm. Her hand was cool and welcome against his skin. “I want to help look for Declan before I have to go back to the city. Where can we search next?”

Barrett thought about it for a moment. “We can go to Scotty’s — he owns Cecil’s, that’s where Declan works. I know they said he didn’t come in on Saturday, but maybe Scot saw something on Friday.”

“Is there any reason we can’t just go to Cecil’s?” 

Barrett shrugged. “Cecil’s always closed on Mondays. No reason to party today.”

*

Barrett’s truck was in the driveway, with a sticky note on the wheel from Tom at the auto body shop telling him to call for his bill. The keys were supposed to be in the mailbox, according to the note, and so they were. 

They drove five minutes to get to Scot’s place. It was a cute cottage with a red tin roof and a garden full of roses. Scot lived three doors down from Misses Fanshaw and Sherol, a fact that Barrett did not envy him for. 

After the first two knocks, Barrett wondered if he was wrong, if Scot had moved away or simply had gone home with someone last night. He was about to give up when the door flew open and Scot emerged, wrapped head to toe in a silk robe and a terry cloth turban. “Mr. Barrett Logan,” he said with a dramatic pause. “You better be interrupting my _well-earned_ rest for a good reason.”

“I am,” Barrett said. “Scotty, this is my fiancée, Lily Jeong. Lily, this is Scot Alford, a friend of mine and Declan’s boss.” Lily, who had been scoping out the roses, waved and came towards them. “We’re looking for Declan. Can you help us?”

Scot took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. His eyes darted toward the other end of his street and he gestured for them to come in quickly. “I guess I can. Come on in.”

The inside of Scot’s house was a fantasy of feathers, crystals and leopard print. Barrett and Lily were conducted to a pink velvet loveseat and told to sit and wait until Scot brought them a drink. Their protests of not wanting to be a bother were completely ignored. 

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Scot said after they had all had their glasses of sweet tea with big yellow slices of lemon. He seated himself on the wingback chair opposite them, as resplendent as a queen on her throne. “That Barrett Logan would introduce me to his legendary fiancée _first_.” 

“I’ve met a few of Barrett’s friends down here,” Lily said with a smile. “His parents, of course. And I know Moss and I’ve met his sister. Roche came by when Barrett was in the hospital…” 

“All right, I see. I’m not special at all,” Scot said with a dramatic sigh. 

“...You’re the first one we came to for this?” Barrett said, trying to collect himself. “Could you tell us about the Friday before Declan disappeared?” 

“Do you think he disappeared?” Scot said. “He was pretty shook up about you going to the hospital. I don’t think it would’ve been out of character for him to take off to stay with some folks afterwards. It gets lonely in that big old house by yourself. Although —” 

He tapped his finger against his chin. “He was supposed to pick up his check on Saturday and never came. Honestly, I was a little pissed off. I don’t like holding checks for people, and Saturday’s always such a busy night. We really could have used his help.” 

“Did something unusual happen on Friday that you can remember?” asked Lily. “Was there a particular customer that was bothering him or something like that?” 

“No,” Scot said, shaking his head. “It was a completely ordinary night. Declan seemed OK — he even got off early. He said that Tony had called to say Barrett’s truck was ready to go, but otherwise —” 

“Tony’s note said he brought the truck over himself,” Barrett said, frowning. “It makes sense that he’d be irritated enough to write that down if he expected Declan to be there.” 

“So he disappeared between late Friday night and Saturday morning,” Lily said. She put her half-drunk glass of sweet tea on the table. The coasters were in the shape of Prince’s face, from an old promotion at Cecil’s. She looked over at Barrett. “It’s been three days already. You should put in a missing person’s report with the police.” 

“The police aren’t going to help look for Declan,” Scot said with a sigh. Barrett nodded at that — if Curt Holloway had his say, Declan would probably be better off lost — but he knew Lily was right. They had to do something. 

They left Scot then, with promises to update him on the situation as soon as it developed. It was then Lily got a call on her cellphone and had to step away to take it. Scot caught Barrett’s arm before he could follow her out. 

“Barrett,” Scot said in a low voice. “You know your Declan’s not the only boy to go missing around here. It doesn’t usually end well for them.” 

Barrett remembered the agony of the belt around his neck, the hopelessness of knowing that his life was being squeezed out of him. He shook his head sharply. He couldn’t dwell on that now. 

“I’m going to find him,” Barrett said. “And he’s going to be alive.” 

He didn’t say that he felt as if he would have known if Declan was dead. He would’ve seen him. After all, he could see ghosts now. Why wouldn’t he be able to see the one ghost he wanted the most? 

They were walking back to the car from Scot’s house when someone shouted for them to stop. Miss Sherol and Miss Fanshaw descended upon them like a pair of hawks in complementary pastel sweatsuits. 

Introductions were swapped quickly and without much comment. But then Miss Fanshaw said, “I can’t believe you tried to sneak off with this pretty little thing without a word to us!” 

She scrutinized both Barrett and Lily deeply while Miss Sherol took Lily’s hand and squeezed it. 

“We’ve heard so much about you, Dr. Jeong. Miss Cathy would chat about you and Barrett all the time at bridge,” Miss Sherol said. 

“It was a real bore about Barrett, but we were interested in you,” Miss Fanshaw confided. “Now y’all have to come over and have tea with us.”

“Sorry, we can’t,” Barrett interjected. His eyes sought Lily’s. She blinked once, very slow. It was their sign to get out of there. “Lily’s due back in Atlanta this evening. But if you want, we can have you two for dinner the next time she comes down.”

“It was so nice to meet you two,” Lily said with a wave. Both Miss Sherol and Miss Fanshaw looked disappointed by her abrupt departure, but that was to be expected.

What was unexpected was Lily saying as Barrett drove them back home, “So how long have they been together?”

“Miss Sherol and Miss Fanshaw? They’re not a couple,” Barrett said. He frowned. “At least, I don’t think so? They’ve never said.”

“Do you think they would? At their age? They’d say it wasn’t your business and they’d be right.”

“You’re really upending my whole world right now,” Barrett said, shaking his head. “I’ve never considered the idea that Miss Fanshaw could experience human feelings like love. Poor Miss Sherol.”

“Mean!” Lily said with a laugh. “She seems happy enough. Maybe we’ll wear matching sweatsuits one day.”

“I’ll wear them today if you want,” Barrett said, and Lily’s cellphone rang again. 


	15. Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett goes to the police to help find Declan and gets no help. But someone _does_ come to the rescue.

Lily had to go back to Atlanta that afternoon, thanks to an operation that had to take place that evening. As soon as Barrett dropped her off at the house to pack up and get on the road, she turned to look at him and said, “We don’t have much time to talk about it, but are you serious about trying again?” 

“Yes,” Barrett replied. “Honestly, Lily, I love you.” 

She smiled, but she looked sad for a moment. “But that’s not the issue though, is it?” 

Barrett admitted that it wasn’t. Lily rummaged in her glove compartment for a moment before she pulled out the VHS and tossed it over to Barrett, who caught it with a laugh.

“Might want to watch it when you get—“ Lily clicked her tongue—“too lonely.” 

“Thanks, honey,” Barrett said, tossing the VHS into his truck. “You really think of everything.”

*

There was nothing left for Barrett to do other than to drive back into town and file a missing person’s report for Declan. 

The police station was located in an old brick building kitty corner from the post office. There had been rumblings about how the building was too large for just the police, but too small for the town hall. As it was, half the building was unoccupied save for the rarely used jail cells. The whole place had an empty feeling to it. 

Barrett parked in front of the station and walked in. Gina, the receptionist, told him to wait for the officer on duty. He hoped that wouldn’t be Curt, but of course it was. Curt barely listened to what Barrett had to say; instead he was busy frowning at some distant point right above Barrett’s shoulder.

“...And I thought I’d come down and file a missing person’s report for Declan. Is there anything else I should do?”

“Well, Barrett — by the way, I’m glad you’re okay, you had everyone real worried there for a minute, getting airlifted to Atlanta and falling into a coma and all —”

“That’s kind of you, I’m fine —”

“But I’m not seeing much evidence that Hyatt didn’t skip town. You said he was fond of the dog and now the dog’s missing. You could file a complaint against him for taking the dog, but otherwise he’s free to go wherever he wants.”

“I’m not accusing him of stealing the dog,” Barrett snapped. “And I don’t know why you’d say there’s no evidence he disappeared. No one’s seen him for days. If he had skipped town why wouldn’t he take his last paycheck? It’s not like he couldn’t use the money.”

“What about your house? You notice anything missing there?”

“Nothing’s missing from the house. My mom’s jewelry, the antiques, and silverware are all there.”

Curt shrugged. They had drifted over to his cubicle and he reached over to shift some paperwork over. Barrett glanced over and saw that there was a picture pinned to the side. Impulsively he pulled a memo out of the way to see that it looked like Declan’s senior photo. His eyes had been covered with pushpins and it looked like Curt had been using the whole thing as a dartboard.

“What the fuck?” Barrett said, stepping backwards. Curt eyed him warily. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to step away from my desk, Logan,” he said, his voice cold. Barrett raised his hands in defeat.

“I don’t know why you have such a vendetta against this kid, but that’s pathetic,” Barrett said. Then something clicked, a throwaway comment from Marylee so long ago at Sandy’s funeral. “Shit. Are you jealous because Marylee talked about him when she was substitute-teaching down at the high school? Jesus Christ, Curt.”

“I don’t know why you bothered coming back from Atlanta, Barrett,” Curt said, shaking his head. “You don’t belong here anymore.”

It was then another officer came by — Rust Kelly, who did take down information for the missing person’s report from Barrett. Rust was friendlier and more conciliatory than Curt had been, but Barrett got the idea that as soon as he left the station, the report would be filed away, never to see the light of day.

He would have to find Declan by himself.

*

By the time he got home, it was evening and getting dark. He took his medications and left a message for Lily, telling her that he was okay. Then, after a brief look through the fridge — nothing appealed — Barrett decided to take a walk. 

It was almost fully dark now, but there was moonlight enough to see by — and he knew the property like the back of his hand. He walked toward the old cemetery, his steps wandering in the direction of the little graves. He had fallen into a meditative state of mind by now. He wondered what were the rules and limits of the dead that he could see.

He was no longer afraid of seeing them. Even if some of them meant him harm, even more of them seemed just desperate to be seen, for someone to acknowledge their continued existence. 

It must, he decided, be so lonely to be dead.

There were no rules. The dead showed themselves to him when they wanted. And they did whatever they felt like. 

And if Declan was already dead, Barrett was sure he would see him. It was this thought that lingered in his head when Barrett heard a snuffling sound coming near him. 

He frowned and looked around, but could only see the moonlight illuminating the marble gravestones. But there — something was moving between the larger gravestones. Barrett bent down and whistled. “Rabbit? Is that you? Come here, girl.”

Rabbit was there. She was covered in mud — he hoped like hell it was just mud — and came to him, shivering. Barrett took off his flannel shirt and bundled her up like a burrito. She whined and licked at his face.

Rabbit had come home — and she had come from a long ways away, without Declan.


	16. I Drove All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What took you so long?"

It was like he was on autopilot. He took Rabbit back home and cleaned her, checking for wounds. She seemed mostly fine, although she ate up her dinner like a starving thing. When he tried to pet her, she cringed but after a while, accepted it. “I wish you could tell me what happened,” Barrett said. Rabbit looked back at him as if she wished she could. 

“All right,” Barrett said, rising. “Come on, buddy. We’re going for a ride.”

It wasn’t exactly that Barrett knew where he was going. But he felt strongly that he ought to be going somewhere, not just sitting around at home. He checked his voicemail before he left. There were voicemails waiting for him — one was for Lily, reminding him to take his medication, and another from Rust Kelly, telling him that they had found Declan’s car abandoned in the parking lot of the local Pump'n Save. 

The back of the car was smashed and the lights were gutted. Someone had taken a baseball bat to the mirrors and windows, then ransacked the interior. The gas station owner, Shaheen Muhammad, had said it had been sitting in the parking lot since at least early Sunday morning — maybe earlier, as he hadn’t come into the shop on Saturday. 

The car would be towed soon and probably be impounded if Declan didn’t come forward to claim it… 

Barrett called him back but only got an answering machine. He asked what the police would do, now that it was clear that Declan had been taken by force. His brother loved his car — he would never allow it to be treated so badly. Declan would never go off like that under his own volition.

Rabbit was nervously worrying at Barrett’s shoes as he left the message. When he was finished, the dog sprang to life. 

“We’re not going to wait for them,” Barrett assured her. He began to gather up some things he might need to search for Declan — he took one of Declan’s unwashed shirts from his bedroom floor. 

Barrett put the shirt under Rabbit’s nose and the dog sniffed it. “Can you find him, girl?” 

Rabbit yipped in assent. 

Barrett also took the ball-peen hammer that his dad had used to secure fence posts. Now he was set. 

Rabbit sat quietly on the passenger seat as Barrett drove toward Bell Union and then through it. He spared a glance toward the row of stores that contained Roche’s antique shop. There was a "for rent" sign on the window. 

Roche had moved on. 

Barrett repressed a rising feeling of panic in his throat. He wouldn’t ever be able to be comfortable in Roche’s presence again. Or rather, he had found the source of his seven-year feeling of unease around Roche. It felt — awful. He knew he couldn’t prove a thing. But he knew now, and that alone was worth something.

He wondered where that dollhouse of Halcyon was now, if Roche had managed to sell it at last. He remembered that strange passageway that he’d seen in the dream. That, he realized, wasn’t a part of the dollhouse in real life. 

Barrett drew a quick breath and hit the gas. His truck sped down the road, heading toward the ruins of Halcyon. 

*

The place felt different than it had been when he’d come with Declan. A bank of clouds had drifted across the moon, shrouding the ruins of the plantation in darkness. Barrett was hoping to see some fresh tire marks on the ground, but everything was dry. There were some marks on the dirt road, but he couldn’t tell how long they had been there.

He brought out Declan’s shirt and let Rabbit smell it. She barked and began to lead Barrett deeper into the ruins of Halcyon. They were going in a direction Barrett had never been before, avoiding the facade of the house and instead going around the back. 

Barrett turned on his high-powered flashlight and let Rabbit lead him. 

Beyond the tussocks of grass, Barrett made out a low brick wall, which ran from the side of the house and around what used to be the courtyard. Parts of the wall had fallen in, but the part Rabbit was leading him to was complete. 

Except for a dark hole that had been cut into the brick. It was utter black and seemed to be pulsing with its own malevolence. Barrett swallowed hard. He had never wanted to step into another place less than this, but he would do so for Declan’s sake. 

He and Rabbit went down the crumbling steps that were cut into the hole. At the bottom of the steps was a heavy wooden door. It was locked, but Barrett took a hammer to it and broke off the lock. 

He opened the door and a terrible smell rushed to greet him. Something — or someone — was rotting. He wanted to throw up, but Rabbit rushed in with a frantic bark. Somewhere close by, Barrett could hear the sound of a generator starting up. The lights flickered on. 

He went in and looked around. Instead of the small space he was expecting, it was something of a labyrinth. Corridors ran towards the house and others away from it. But Rabbit had hared away down an unlit hall and he could hear her barking. Barrett followed her noise into a small, whitewashed room, unremarkable except for the chains that lined the walls. 

In the corner was Declan, huddled against the wall. There was a chain around his hands and neck, connected to a longer chain that was bolted to the wall. Rabbit was with him, pawing at his chest. For a sickening moment, Barrett thought he had come too late. Declan was dead. His body was the source of the terrible smell.

It was Barrett’s fault for not looking for him sooner. 

But as he approached, he saw the slight rise and fall of Declan’s chest, and when Barrett bent down and touched his face, Declan flinched and woke. He blinked slowly as he registered what was going on. 

“What took you so long?” he demanded, his voice scratchy from disuse. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Barrett felt his forehead. It felt cold and sweaty. Declan was obviously in poor condition — there were yellowing bruises on his face and arms. He looked sick. But he was alive. He was alive and Barrett was going to take him out of here. Barrett pressed his forehead against Declan’s and breathed out for a moment. Declan clutched at his arm, as if reassuring himself of Barrett’s reality. 

“What happened?” Barrett asked. “How did you get here?” 

“I was driving to Cecil’s — brought Rabbit with me, to surprise Scot — when some asshole rear-ended me. I pulled off at the gas station to see the damage and when I got out of the car, he hit me over the head with something. Rabbit must’ve gotten loose in the struggle. When I came to, I was here.” 

“Are you alone?” Barrett looked around. The lights had started to flicker off and darkness was encroaching upon them. The intense feeling of being watched was everywhere now. “Declan, stay with me. Did Roche do this to you too?” 

“Too? What are you talking about?” Declan replied. He shook his head. “Always knew he hated me. Jealous asshole.” 

Barrett stood up and nodded to himself. “We’ll deal with him. But first I have to get you out of here.” He didn’t care that his voice was shaking. 

Declan shuffled away as best as he could, although Rabbit had climbed into his lap. Barrett felt like he was possessed. He looked for the weakest link in the chain and decided it was the link to the wall. He hammered away at it, channeling his rage and impotence into it. Finally, it fell off, and Barrett collapsed into Declan’s arms.

“What were you saying about getting out?” Declan said as Barrett’s vision grew hazy. Barrett tried to speak but when he looked around, he saw that the room was now crowded with people who were strangers to him. He wasn’t afraid of any of them. Instead, he found nothing but sadness and pity in their gazes, and felt those feelings reflected back on him. 

One man in particular slipped through the crowd and approached them. He was a slim black man of indeterminate age. There was something of Scot in the way he bore himself. 

“Cecil,” Barrett said and Cecil smiled. He nodded over to Declan. 

“Better get your brother out,” Cecil said. “This place is going to burn down all over again.” 

“Yes, I know, I know,” Barrett said just as he heard noises above him. The door to the outside opened forcefully and Rabbit began to bark ferociously. 

He heard the sounds of the police identifying themselves. 

“We’re here,” Barrett shouted out as Curt and Rust made their way into the room. Their steps were cautious and Barrett knew they were smelling the decomposition too. 

All the same, he wasn’t exactly surprised when they arrested him for trespassing. Barrett had enough wherewithal to demand they call an ambulance for Declan and take Rabbit home. Once they did all that, Barrett went along without a fight. 


	17. Jailhouse Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [LOUD SIREN SOUNDS]

Twelve hours later, Barrett watched as Curt tried to get a statement from Roche, who had requested to speak to Barrett before he decided whether to press charges for trespassing. Barrett could see Roche losing patience with Curt’s slow pace. 

At any other time, this would’ve been funny. But now, it was merely sickening — for a myriad of reasons. 

“You know what, maybe it would be quicker if I wrote down my statement and gave it to you,” Roche said. He glanced over to where Barrett sat, in the tiny holding cell of Bell Union Police Station.

Barrett folded his arms across and stared back at him. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” Curt said. He wrote down another sentence. He noticed that Roche’s attention was divided as well. “How did you know that Logan would be trying to access your property unlawfully last night?” 

“I couldn’t have known that,” Roche said with a sigh. “I installed a new security system a few weeks ago and this was the first hit. I thought it would be some teens exploring and getting into trouble. I called out of concern for them, really.” 

“Why do you have those chains, Roche?” Barrett said loudly. He stuck his hands through the bars of the holding cell and leaned against it. “Whatcha been doin’ down there?” 

“Be quiet, Logan,” Curt snapped. “You’re the one in trouble here. And don’t act like you’re some kind of innocent either. We found hardcore pornography in your truck.” 

“You found one VHS tape that I bought at a truck stop as a joke.”

“Shows what you’re into though,” Curt shot back. “Pervert.”

“Whatever. It’s my First Amendment right to be a pervert, then.”

“Don’t be a smart ass just now, Barrett,” Roche said with a fatherly grin. Roche seemed to be enjoying the scene thoroughly, which turned Barrett’s stomach. 

He turned his attention back to Curt, and said, “You found a missing boy in Roche’s basement and I’m the one arrested? Excellent police work, Curt. They’re gonna teach about you at the academy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Curt said. “This is your last warning.” 

“Could I talk to my godson for a moment?” Roche asked Curt, who shrugged and closed his notebook. 

“You have five minutes,” he said, eying the both of them suspiciously before he beat a strategic retreat back into the police station proper. 

Barrett leaned hard against the bars of his cell. “How many other boys did you hurt down there, Roche? How many did you bury? How could you?”

“You’re confused and hurting,” Roche said blandly. He reached into the inside of his jacket and withdrew a slim blue notebook. Barrett took a deep, shuddering breath. 

Roche smiled. “If your daddy could see you now, Barrett. Would’ve broken that old man’s heart all over again.”

“Give that to me,” Barrett said. “I don’t know how you got it, but it belongs to me. Sandy meant for me to have it.”

“Sandy, Sandy, _Sandy_. You’re obsessed, Barrett. And it’s far too late for you to get Oedipal now.” He paused and looked at Barrett thoughtfully. They were close together, close enough to almost kiss. “Unless your tastes run another way?”

“You’re not exactly the best person to talk,” Barrett replied. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t get it up if your partner’s breathing?”

Roche scoffed and tossed the notebook into the cell with Barrett. A Poloroid fell out of the pages and fluttered downward. Barrett snatched both of them up. The picture was of two girls, one unmistakably Sandy and another one with dark hair who was a stranger to Barrett. He tucked the picture back into the notebook and put it into the inside pocket of his shirt.

“Once you read that, you’ll see what I mean. Sandy was nothing but a lying whore. I wouldn’t be proud to be her son, not that you are.”

“Fuck you,” Barrett snapped. He wanted to strangle Roche, but Roche straightened and stepped away quickly. There was someone standing behind him. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me any more questions, Barrett? Don’t you want to know everything?” Roche said. 

“I want to know,” Barrett said. “Tell me now, Roche. Before it’s too late.” 

Roche scoffed loudly, but then his smile faded. He coughed. Barrett watched in horror as slim white fingers emerged from Roche’s chest and _twisted._ Roche coughed and blood sprayed across the cell. It got on Barrett’s face and hands. He then collapsed on the ground and behind him, Sandy straightened up. 

She looked more like Barrett’s memories of her from seven years ago than her funeral. Happy and healthy, completely normal except that she was holding something wet and dark in her hands. 

Sandy smiled at Barrett lovingly and opened her mouth to speak. She was talking, but it was as if someone had hit fast forward on the scene. Nothing she was saying was understandable, it went by too fast. Nonetheless, Barrett knew what she was asking from him. 

“I’m going to take care of Declan,” Barrett said. “Thank you for watching over us.”

Sandy’s smile turned sad and faded away. All of this was over in seconds. It was then Barrett started calling for help.

*

Roche was dead — the EMTs said it was a massive heart attack that had broken the blood vessels in his face and eyes, thus the spray of blood and the godawful expression on his face. Barrett asked if they could give him a ride to the hospital, but both of them gave him a strange look and said no. Barrett shrugged — it had been worth a try, at least.

Since there was no longer a reason to hold him —Roche wouldn’t be able to press charges, after all — Barrett walked out of the police station a free man. And just in time too, as reports were coming in that there were indeed bodies being found beneath Halcyon. The Bell Union police station started to be filled with sheriff’s deputies and officials from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. People actually wanted to investigate these crimes, it seemed like. 

No doubt, eventually, some of these people would want to talk to Barrett, but meanwhile he was going home. He badly needed to wash the blood off his face. 

“Curt thinks you’re a Satanist,” Rust informed him as Barrett took back the keys to his truck. Barrett scoffed. 

“Curt needs to mind his own business,” Barrett replied. “But if he’s looking for Satan, he should be taking a look at Roche’s basement. Ain’t nothing godly down there from the smell of it.” 

Rust looked green at the mention of the smell, but Barrett needed to go and make a phone call. He walked down the road until he came to a pay phone and rang up Lily’s cellphone. 

She answered after two rings and immediately asked him what was wrong. 

“A lot’s wrong,” Barrett replied. “But I found Declan. He’s at the hospital right now, he’ll be OK. Lily, I’ve been thinking —” He pressed his hand against his shirt pocket, where the notebook was.

“I’ve been recreating a lot of the sins of the past and I can’t do that anymore. We both need a clean break, don’t we?”

“You’re breaking the engagement?” Lily took a deep, probably steadying breath. There were sounds of clanking silverware and voices behind her. She was probably hiding in a booth at the hospital cafeteria. 

Barrett felt more than a twinge of guilt for putting her in such a position in such a public setting, but that was the point, wasn’t it? She was well rid of him. 

Lily continued on, using what Barrett knew was her reasonable, _look I’m not yelling_ voice. “Barrett, you have to know this is very frustrating for me.”

“I know! Believe me, I know. But a lot of shit is about to come down and I think you’re better off without — without being tainted by me.”

“Okay,” Lily said. “Listen, I won’t argue. You’re not in a good place right now, that much is clear. Neither am I. I’ll come down and return the ring to you some time next week.”

“That sounds good.” 

There was a short silence and Lily cleared her throat and said, “Barrett, have you taken your medications?” 

“No, I haven’t been able to yet. Spent the night in jail. Don’t worry, I’m out and they’re not pressing charges.”

“I have no idea how to respond to that. Why were you arrested?”

“Technically, I was trespassing when I found Declan… Uh, this is going to sound strange, but apparently Roche had a murder basement and he was keeping Declan there. Lily, I’m feeling kind of weird, honestly.” 

“Where are you? I’m coming down as soon as I can.” 

“No. You don’t have to. I really hate that you’re going through so much shit because of me.” Barrett sighed and leaned against the pay phone. It felt hot against his body, having soaked in the sunlight for hours.

“I feel really guilty about — all of this. I know it doesn’t matter how I feel but I am really sorry for doing this to you. I guess you should know — I slept with Declan. I’m sorry. I have to go. I l know we can’t be together now. I want you to have a wonderful life. I love you. Goodbye, Lily.” 

He hung up the phone before Lily could say anything else. As terribly as the conversation had gone, Barrett felt a little bit better at the end of it. He wasn’t pulling Lily into his disastrous orbit anymore. She was well-rid of him and he felt light for the first time in a long time. No one else expected him to keep it together now. 

Barrett knew he was too fucked up to drive, even with his keys heavy in his pocket. Instead, he walked to Hollis Park and sat down in the deep shadows of the oak trees and took out the small blue notebook. He began to read. 


	18. Breather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You _feel_ weird. Did you murder someone or what?”

Declan was sleeping when Barrett came into his room, but he jerked awake at the sound of Barrett bumping into a chair. The panic in his eyes faded when he saw that it was only Barrett, but he didn’t say anything. 

He was looking much better than the last time Barrett had seen him, but Declan really wasn’t one for hospitals. It was like he had shrunk down somehow and seemed more insubstantial, like he could disappear at any moment.

“Is Rabbit okay?” Declan asked, licking his dry lips. 

Barrett nodded. “I asked Miss Sherol to stay with her while I came to visit you. She’s become pretty clingy since she came back.”

Declan closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s such a good girl.”

“Yeah,” Barrett said. “The best.” 

Declan seemed to pull himself out of his stupor and his gaze focused on Barrett. He frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Barrett scoffed lightly. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Why do you ask?” 

“You look weird,” Declan said. He tried to sit up, but winced in pain. Barrett reached out to steady him but hesitated, drew back his hand. Declan narrowed his eyes. “You _feel_ weird. Did you murder someone or what?” 

Barrett smiled, even though he knew that wouldn’t work against Declan’s declaration that he seemed off. “Roche’s dead. No — I didn’t kill him — not really. It was — natural causes, he had a heart attack.” 

Declan looked like he didn’t quite believe him. “Not really?” 

“Yeah. Not really.” 

Declan leaned against his pillow and sighed. “Then that fucker skipped responsibility once again.”

“Yeah. He couldn’t have done all this alone. They’re still pulling bodies out of that old place. And Henry Philson’s body got pulled out of the water today, Rust told me. There’s a lot of loose ends to this.”

“Not just loose ends, but a whole sweater,” Declan mused. 

Barrett whistled. “That’s a thinker right there. Not your best, but it’s also not your worst.” 

“Give me a break, I’m in the hospital. Anyway, I’m sick of this. Can we talk about something else?” 

“Of course we can,” Barrett told him. He reached out and grasped Declan’s hand, which felt smooth and dry against his own. There was no one around — he had checked — and so he bent down and pressed a quick kiss to Declan’s cheek.

Declan’s eyes closed for a moment, his lashes casting long shadows down his face. 

“When can we go home?” Declan asked. “They finally sent over Mom’s ashes. I have to think about where I’m supposed to scatter them.” 

“You’ll get out soon. And we’ll scatter them together,” Barrett said. “But first I have something to tell you — it’s important.” 

“Look, if it’s another fucking dark family secret then I’m not interested,” Declan replied. 

Barrett frowned at him. “All right then, I don’t have anything to tell you.” 

“I’m fine with that,” Declan replied tartly. “Why didn’t you bring Rabbit with you? She’s better company.” 


	19. Dark Family Secrets (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contents of the little blue notebook, explored.

Sandy wrote in a careful cursive script in blue ink that had faded with age. She wasn’t much for preambles or long philosophical struggles. Even at seventeen, Sandy was a hard-headed realist. 

She wanted nothing more than to leave this town when she was old enough. Her family were scattered to the winds — her father was dead, her mother remarried, her two older brothers were respectively in Vietnam or just gone. Sandy’s grandma had raised her but the nursing home finally had a place for her, and that was a good thing. While Granny could tell you everything that happened on her tenth birthday seventy-eight years ago, or the time her daddy shot a prowler that turned out to be a cougar, she simply didn’t know what day it was.

So, Sandy was on her own.

It was her ambition and chief desire to get out of Bell Union, to see the world. There weren't many opportunities available to her, which was why she’d been happy and flattered when Roche, the scion of the wealthiest family in town, seemed to take an interest in her.

Her hopes were quickly dashed, however, when Roche had told her frankly that he wasn’t interested in what she had to offer. But, he had said with a smile, he knew someone who was.

That someone was John Logan, Roche’s family lawyer. He was willing to have Roche act as a go-between between the two of them. 

Sandy thought about the offer and accepted. Her diary was as matter-of-fact about this as she had been about her SAT scores, but underneath it all was a feeling of anxiety and fear that Barrett could recognize well enough. 

_The world’s not right, is it?_ Sandy wrote in her careful, girlish hand. _I shouldn’t have to do this just to get out of this place, but I don’t see another way._

As Barrett read her account, he thought of how utterly different his life had been from hers. Up until a year ago, he had always been taken care of, had been worried about, to the point where he failed to notice his safety net until it was gone. Sandy never seemed to have that reassurance in her life — at least not in the time she was writing about. 

Her recollections about the night of Barrett’s conception were muddled and unclear — Barrett felt a stab of recognition at that too. She had gone out with Roche on one last date and found herself several hours later in some cellar, half-undressed and muzzy-headed.

A few weeks later, she found herself pregnant. Abortion had only been legal for a few years now, but Sandy considered it and was gathering some money to go into the city for it when Miss Cathy paid her a visit. 

Sandy had known Miss Cathy since she was a child — Miss Cathy was the children’s librarian for the town and drove the bookmobile around in the summers, where Sandy had volunteered as a preteen. 

The truth was, Sandy hadn’t had the urge to tidy up since her grandma had been taken away — but if Miss Cathy thought she was trash, she did a good job pretending otherwise. 

“I want to ask you for the greatest thing another person can ask from another,” Miss Cathy said solemnly, after the small talk. “I heard from Casey Moss that you’re fixing to go to the city and get rid of that little baby you’re carrying now.” 

Sandy sat bolt upright and opened her mouth but Miss Cathy put up a hand, like she was addressing a roomful of children. “Now, Sandy, you don’t have to tell me it's your right to do it if you wanted to. I know it's your right. But if you’d consider it, we — that is to say, John and I, would be glad to raise that baby for you and give you something to help start your life off right.” 

“You’re offering to buy this baby?” Sandy asked abruptly. “And I thought you were — I don’t know. Decent.” 

Miss Cathy only looked at her. “I’m not saying this is the easy choice. I’ve — never been able to deliver a living child, but I know it’s hard and your body’s never the same. But if you’re willing to do it, we can send you to the best mother’s home and both you and the child can get the treatment you deserve.” 

“You said your husband knows about this? Do you know what he did?” Sandy felt like she was going crazy. Why did it seem like _she_ was crazy, the unreasonable one for wanting this thing to go away? She was just a child, still. She wasn’t equipped to handle all that was thrown at her. 

“He told me what happened,” Miss Cathy said. “We don’t have any secrets from each other. We’ve been together too long for that.” 

Sandy took a deep breath and stood. “Then I pity you.” She opened the storm door and waited for Miss Cathy to leave. 

*

There was a break in the narrative and the next part picked up three months later at a home for unwed mothers in Clearwater, Florida. The place was run by people who made it clear that the place was on the edge of closure — most of the restrictions were no longer being enforced. 

Sandy shared a room with another girl, Willa, who was from Wisconsin. She was the dark-haired girl from the Polaroid with Sandy, that had been stuck in the pages of the notebook. 

Willa never talked much about her past or her future, but she did enjoy listening to Sandy’s plans about what she would do with the twenty-five thousand dollars the Logans had promised her in exchange for the baby. 

“I’m going to go to Europe — London, Paris, Rome, everywhere that’ll have me,” Sandy told her as the two girls sat outside in the loggia of the old villa that had once been a vacation home of some robber baron or other. 

They were soaking up the sun and also keeping an eye out for gators that would occasionally wander into the garden from the pond nearby. There wasn’t much they could actually do about the gators, besides throwing stones at them from the buckets set out for that purpose. 

Willa smiled softly. “You have so many plans and ambitions. I can’t imagine it for myself.” 

Sandy looked at her curiously. “What are you going to do afterwards? Go back home? Marry your sweetheart? Go to school?” 

Willa shook her head. “I don’t have anything or anyone waiting for me.” 

Sandy felt a familiar feeling of hopelessness that she had to tamp down again. She smiled brightly. “Well hey, you can come with me. Two can live as cheaply as one, in some places. Maybe we’ll go Communist, slip behind the Iron Curtain or whatever.” 

Willa laughed at that, but Sandy already knew by now that her roommate — and friend — was a deeply unhappy girl. That night, when the rest of the house was sleeping, Sandy woke up to the sound of stifled sobs. Across the room, she saw Willa in bed, as tightly wound as a comma. She was crying almost too softly to hear. Sandy had to make a decision right away. Would she ignore it or comfort her? 

Sandy chose the latter. She got up from bed and approached Willa’s bed — which was little more than a cot, same as her own. “Bad dreams?” she asked softly. Willa looked up at her and Sandy thought she had never seen more raw misery on a human face before. 

Without asking further, she climbed into bed with Willa and embraced her. What she felt for Willa then was half what a mother felt for her child, half what a woman felt for her lover. When they kissed in that humid darkness, it felt right and sweet. It was the first sweetness of that kind that Sandy had ever felt — she was sure it was the same for Willa. 

*

Then, two weeks before her due date, Sandy fell ill. She began bleeding and was swamped with a fever the likes of which she had never experienced before. She was vaguely aware that Willa had gone to the hospital almost the same time as she did. Again, they shared the same hospital room. But that was where the similarities between them ended. Sandy delivered a stillborn baby boy some time during the night. It happened so fast that she was barely aware of it. 

They let her see him for only a moment. He was just a little thing. She didn’t feel the swelling of love or affection she’d read that new mothers were supposed to feel, but maybe it was because her baby had been born dead. When they’d taken the child away, she laid in her bed and began to cry. 

“I know this makes me a bad person,” she said to Willa, “but I keep thinking about that money. I’m never going to get it now. I’ll never leave that town. I’m trapped, I’ve always been trapped.” 

Willa, who had been almost half-asleep by then, sat up suddenly — or tried to. “You’re not.” 

“What?” Sandy said, wiping away her tears. 

“You’re getting out,” Willa said. She put her hand on her stomach and nodded. “This baby’s yours. I want you to give it to those people. They’ll take care of him, you’ll travel the world. Everything’s going to be right.” 

“But what about you?” Sandy asked, her voice shaking. Willa only smiled at her and wouldn’t say. She delivered a healthy baby boy a few hours later and it didn’t take much — only a sympathetic night nurse or two — to switch the names on the babies. Sandy’s baby disappeared into the dark and she left the hospital with Willa’s child. She made arrangements to come get Willa as soon as she got the money from the Logans. 

The baby — Sandy decided to name him Barrett, after Willa’s last name — was a lively and happy baby, even so young. As they travelled by bus from Clearwater to Atlanta, and then down to Bell Union, Sandy got to be kind of fond of him. She almost felt some kind of regret when she finally put him into Miss Cathy’s waiting arms. 

“Oh!” Miss Cathy breathed out as she held young Barrett with the reverence of Mary with the Christ child. “Look at those blue eyes. Hope they don’t fade away.” 

“They won’t,” Sandy said, thinking about Willa’s eyes, which had been blue, a different shade than her own. She looked over at John Logan, who had been hanging back as all of this took place. She raised her voice. “I’d like to see him, from time to time. I don’t expect him to remember me or anything, but I am — his mother.” 

“We can talk about that later,” John replied. Sandy smiled at him politely. “We’ll talk about it once you’ve held up your end of the bargain, John.” 

When Sandy had gotten her affairs settled, she headed back on the road to fetch Willa. The address Willa provided was an apartment in Madison, Wisconsin, and Sandy arrived there the same day as the first snowstorm of the season. She charmed a college boy into giving her a ride from the station. It wasn’t that she was too trusting — Sandy traveled with a switchblade tucked into the pocket of her swanky but all-too thin coat. 

When she knocked at Willa’s door, she heard the thump of children playing and a woman bawling at them to stop. When the door opened, it was the same woman — mid-forties and exhausted, with flyaway salt and pepper hair and an impatient expression. “Yes,” she said. “Can I help you?” 

“Why, I sure do hope so,” Sandy said, doing her best impression of a Southern belle, which had helped her so much that afternoon. “I’m here to see Willa, if I could. I’m a friend of hers from school.” 

The harried woman’s face crumpled with some strong emotion. She gestured into the apartment. “You better come in, then.” 

“Is she out?” Sandy asked, stepping into the hot apartment. Three small children ran through the living room, but one of them, a small girl of about six, stopped dead at the sight of Sandy and hid behind the puce-colored sofa.

“Clarice,” her mother said sharply. “Get out from there.” She turned back to Sandy and said, “Do you want anything to eat? You look cold, honey.” 

“I guess I’m not used to this kind of weather,” Sandy said. “Is Willa going to be long?” 

“Willa’s dead,” said a tiny voice from behind the sofa. Clarice’s head poked out. She was Willa in miniature, complete with worried blue eyes and soft black curls. Sandy stared at her for a minute before sitting down abruptly on the closest sofa.

“How did it happen? _When_ did it happen? It’s only been a month,” Sandy said, almost to herself. “She told me she’d wait…” 

Willa’s mother eyed Sandy doubtfully before she turned and went to the kitchen. She came back with a cup of coffee and a slice of Lazy Daisy cake. Sandy ate, her stomach feeling as though it was tied into knots. Finally, she put down her plate and looked at Mrs. Barrett and Clarice pleadingly. 

“Could you tell me what happened to her?” 

“There’s really nothing to say,” Mrs. Barrett said. “Willa was always a sensitive girl. We heard that her baby died and I’m sure she took it to heart. She just faded away —” 

“I found her,” said Clarice. There were dark smudges under her eyes. She looked older than her years. “She didn’t _fade_ , Momma.” 

“Hush, child. I told you to go play with your sister,” said Mrs. Barrett sharply. She looked at Sandy and said matter-of-factly, “If you’re done, miss, you should go. My husband will be here soon and he likes to have supper waiting for him.” 

“Of course,” Sandy said, standing up quickly. The phone rang in the kitchen and Mrs. Barrett went to get it. Clarice conducted Sandy to the door and gestured for her to bend down. Sandy obliged her. 

“Did you see Willa’s baby?” Clarice whispered. 

“Yes,” Sandy whispered back. She looked around but Mrs. Barrett was still in the kitchen. “Can I tell you a secret? It’s something you can’t tell anyone else. Not even your momma.” 

“Yes,” Clarice said seriously. 

“Willa’s baby is alive,” Sandy said. “He’s living with a nice couple who are going to give him everything he wants. You don’t need to worry about him.” 

Clarice said nothing about that. She opened the door for Sandy and let her go with a soft goodbye.

*

Sandy ended the diary with a fresh entry, dated seven years ago. This time, she addressed her words to Barrett. _I hope you can understand some of what I did and why I did it. I used that money well. I traveled the world. I fell in love again, with a good person. I had a child that I could keep. I hope one day you, Declan, and I can spend some time together. I can tell you more about Willa, who was also your mother. You’re a lucky boy to have so many, trust me._

_Barrett, if you carry away anything from this story, please let it be this: you were loved by so many more people than you know._

_With all my love,_

_Sandy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a bit of a break for the Thanksgiving holiday, where I also plan to throw golf balls at gators. Hope y'all stay safe and eat well!


	20. Afterword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett and Declan reassess their changed relationship.

“So, there it is,” Barrett said, closing the notebook and putting it back into the lockbox he had brought out of his father’s office especially. The blue of the cover seemed to have faded even further over the last few days, until it resembled the haint blue of the porch ceiling more than anything else. 

He put the box aside with a sigh and went back to bed. It was a stormy night and the wind moved restlessly outside and leaked into the cracks of the house. The bed was the only warm place — and Declan was huddled there, blankets wrapped tightly around himself. He scooted over to make room for Barrett. His eyes were suspiciously bright. Their eyes met. 

“So my mom sold a baby, huh,” Declan said.

“And my parents bought one, yeah,” Barrett confirmed. “I figured it out — with inflation, Sandy got about a quarter of a million dollars.”

“She was always smart as hell,” Declan muttered. He sighed and leaned against Barrett, pressing his face against the crook of his neck. “But that means we’re not really brothers, does it?”

“No,” Barrett said strongly. “Don’t think of it like that.” He kissed Declan, a soft and lingering kiss. “I love you as a brother. Maybe more.”

“Right,” Declan said softly. There was a familiar look of mischief in his eyes and something in Barrett ached to see it. It had been too long since he’d seen Declan like this. 

With a dry laugh, Declan said, “You’re really something else, you know that?” 

“What do you mean?” Barrett said, cocking his head. “Declan, you should know how I feel about you. There is nobody else out there for me.” 

A look crossed over Declan’s face — Barrett thought it must be panic — and he shook his head. “You’ll change your mind, you’ll go back to your fiancée or someone else like her. I’m not anything to you.” 

“What the hell, didn’t you hear a thing I said? If we weren’t actually blood related — well, it wouldn’t matter here, since everyone knows who we are. But we could go anywhere else, do whatever we like, and no one would stop us.” 

“You’ll never leave this place,” Declan said. He bit his lip and seemed to resolve something in his head. “You’re right though. If we’ve spent this whole time thinking of ourselves as brothers, nothing could change that. Our relationship is what it is — fucked up.” 

He pushed Barrett down flat on the bed and pushed open his legs. “Can’t weasel out of it now by moving to California and pretending to be normal.” 

Barrett quirked up an eyebrow. “You’re a bit too young to give up ever being normal, aren’t you, Declan?” 

Declan descended upon him, kissing him roughly, like he wanted to consume him. Barrett kissed him back with equal passion. When Declan’s hand pressed against his cock, he bit off a groan. It would be a lie to say this wasn’t something he’d wanted, something he had longed for — for so long. He'd never thought he would be able to touch Declan again like this. 

It was an unspeakable gift. 

“I want you, you asshole. You weirdo. You’re not as cute as you think you are, you know that?” Declan’s voice was breathless with excitement. “Seeing you acting like my caring big brother when I was in the hospital, giving my statement to the sheriff when I knew — I could do this to you.”

They were pressed against each other, aligned as their cocks were. They moved together deliberately, eyes locked together. It was intense enough for them to ignore the soft scratching at the bedroom door. 

“Why don’t you teach me a lesson?” Barrett said, licking his lips. “Show me what you can do.” 

Declan gave him a feral grin. “You want that?” 

“More than anything,” Barrett replied. “Give it to me.” 

He was still pretty loose from their activities last night, but still Declan took his time getting him ready again. They didn’t really talk much during this, and the silence allowed the scratching at the door to get louder and more noticeable. It was now accompanied by whining. 

“Raaaabbitt,” Barrett drawled, throwing back his head. “Go back to bed, for God’s sake.” 

“Wanna see what she wants?” Declan said, his breath warm against Barrett’s face. He was looking amused, not frustrated, which was good for him, but frustrating for Barrett. 

“You don’t want to fuck?” he said, shoving Declan off him. Declan rolled off with grace and sprawled out, legs akimbo. 

“That dog saved my life.” He shrugged. “Least I can do.” 

“Yeah, I see the gratitude,” Barrett said, pulling on a pair of boxers and shuffling towards the door. He’d left a little heater running near Rabbit’s bed downstairs. If the dog insisted on sleeping upstairs, he’d have to go down and turn it off. He slung one of his father’s old robes over his shoulders and opened the door, crouching down to get Rabbit, who sprang into his arms with a sharp bark. 

She licked at Barrett’s face and hands frantically, and Barrett tried to calm her. He put her on the ground and she dashed off to Declan’s side of the bed. Barrett grinned at the sound of Declan fussing before he looked down the darkened hallway and all humor vanished. 

He saw a figure rapidly approaching him, until they stood face to face. It was a familiar face — Barrett saw it in the mirror everyday. But he knew by now that the man he was seeing _was not him_. It was like looking into an antique mirror, with dark spots and scratches. His doppleganger’s face was expressionless at first, but then twisted with anger. 

But he wasn’t the only angry one. Barrett was sick of all this, and of his shade most of all. “Who are you?” he demanded and reached out to push him away. 

But there seemed to be some barrier between him and the other thing. “What do you want?” Barrett called to the apparition, while Declan asked who he was talking to. When Declan came to the door, the ghost was gone, of course. 

But Barrett finally knew who that spirit was. He shook his head in disbelief and said to Declan, “Don’t you get it? The ghost was always me.” 


	21. Spooky Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some would say that throwing a Halloween party in a notoriously haunted house was just tempting fate, but Barrett thought it was all the better for the atmosphere.

Halloween tended to be quiet so far into the country. Not much use in putting out candy for trick-or-treaters when there was a mile or more in between neighbors. Nonetheless, it was out of nostalgia that Barrett put out a bowl of full-size candy bars on the porch, next to a set of inexpertly carved pumpkins. He believed in rewarding effort. 

Some would say that throwing a Halloween party in a notoriously haunted house was just tempting fate, but Barrett thought it was all the better for the atmosphere. He had invited practically the whole town to come, but to his relief, the attendees were mostly limited to those who liked him and didn’t think he had been helping Roche with all those murders. Those numbers were much more reasonable. 

It had been a long and strange year since the discovery of the Bell Union Ripper — sometimes called the Halcyon Plantation Murders, which was what the _Dateline_ episode was called — but somehow, Barrett and Declan had found themselves at the end of it.

Declan was enrolled in culinary school, ready to start after Christmas. Barrett didn’t feel too bad about spending the money he’d inherited from Roche on that. It was a good thing that Roche hadn’t had a chance to change his will before he died… 

As for Halcyon itself, technically Barrett might have owned it, but Roche’s distant relations were making noises about a non-family member getting it. Barrett did not want it. He hardly could want it less — especially since it was still actively being investigated. 

Barrett knew it was natural that some suspicion would fall on himself. The sheriff and the GBI had cleared him, but it was well known around town that Curt still believed Barrett had something to do with it. After all, he said loudly and to anyone who would listen, how else had Barrett known exactly where to go to rescue Declan? There was no smoke without fire. Everyone knew that. 

The final count of Roche’s victims came to six, four of them identified, the other two still up in the air. Some had been boys like Barrett had been — apples of their middle-class families’ eyes, with futures and plans ahead of them. They had been killed right away and then hidden. The police had considered them runaways, as unlikely as that seemed. The others were boys like Declan — boys who Roche didn’t think most would miss. Lost boys, living on the edges of society. Those boys had been kept alive longer, chained and left to die in the dark. 

It was sickening, awful to know what had happened to them all, when no one knew or cared about what was happening just under the surface. 

But the thing was — no matter where each victim came from, Barrett knew all of them had families, friends, _someone_ who had been looking for them. And now at least those loved ones had answers, even if the truth was hard to bear. 

Barrett had committed every terrible detail of the case to memory, a trait that did not serve him well when _Dateline_ came to interview him. (At least Keith was nice.) Barrett tried to be as somber and helpful as possible, but most people watching the show told him that he just looked suspicious as hell. 

There was something about his eyes, they said, they looked weird on TV. Too wide, too knowing. A washed-out blue. His hair was perfect, his suit empty. A haunted Ken doll, Lily said when they finally started talking again. If Barrett’s alibis hadn’t been airtight for most of the disappearances… 

Well, the party was starting up already. Moss had come in early with a keg and as much of the powerful German beer only he could pronounce and only he liked. Marylee had come along with him. She was still unsure over her trial separation with Curt. The kids were going trick-or-treating with her parents, but she was on the phone every fifteen minutes, calling to see if they were okay. 

Miss Sherol and Miss Fanshaw had set up a fortune-reading parlor in the library, complete with tarot cards and a crystal ball. 

Miss Fanshaw had had something to say about Sandy’s ashes — along with a framed photo of her and another girl — sitting in the place of honor on the mantelpiece, but Barrett had told her simply that they honored good people in this house, and so there they were. 

Miss Fanshaw had frowned but said nothing more about it. 

Scot had come late with a bunch of people from Cecil’s, who filled the house with raucous energy. He had also brought his own booze, guessing correctly that what they already had wouldn’t be enough for the night ahead. 

Barrett didn’t know who had brought the Ouija board, but he suspected it was Elisha. She was dressed as a witch and was holed up in the corner, whispering something to Declan and giving Rabbit pets. Since her disappearance and reappearance, Rabbit had become even more fiercely protective of both Declan and Barrett and less tolerant of strangers. The only way to soothe her during the party was to let her snooze on Barrett’s bed, with the covers over her. 

“We’re taking her up,” Declan told him and Barrett nodded. 

The doorbell rang; when Barrett opened it, it was Lily standing on the porch with her shiny new boyfriend, Kit, and a large wooden box. Barrett had met Kit before — it had been an incredibly strained meeting — but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Lily had forgiven him enough so that they could be friends. He kissed her cheek and asked what she was dressed as. 

“Can’t you tell?” she teased. She was wearing a blue gingham dress with white capped shoulders. Her shoes were ruby-red. Lily was always a fan of the classics.

“Does that make Kit Toto?” Barrett said, taking her coat. Kit answered for himself. 

He was a very handsome gastroenterologist, with dark hair and eyes. He was wearing a red tie and a black suit. “Of course I’m Toto,” he said, pressing a hand on his chest. “And that’s why I’m not wearing a costume, you see. All dogs are naked.” 

Personally, Barrett thought Kit was much more annoying than he had ever been. But if Lily was happy with him, then what could he say about it? He gestured over to the big box. “You didn’t need to bring anything.” 

“That wasn’t us,” Lily told him. “A truck stopped by and some guys delivered it. I thought it was something for the party.” 

“No,” Barrett said, frowning. “We’ve got everything…” 

“We can help you bring it in,” Kit offered, and together they brought the box into the main hall. Declan came down the stairs to see what the commotion was about and asked what the thing was. 

“Not sure,” Barrett replied. “Should we open it?” 

“Let’s put it on a table first,” Lily suggested. “The box says it’s fragile.” 

When they opened it, it turned out to be the dollhouse of Halcyon. Every detail was still perfect. Barrett stared at it in horror and glanced nervously over to Declan, who seemed almost preternaturally calm about the whole thing. 

“Shit,” Kit began to say. “Is that the place…?” 

“We’ll deal with it later,” Barrett declared. He faked his best, most toothy smile, a smile he knew to be quite unnerving. “We’ve got a party to celebrate, don’t we?” 

And the party _was_ good. It seemed like the third time really was the charm. Barrett was proud of them all — Declan for wowing everyone with his selection of pies and sweets, Miss Fanshaw’s bitingly accurate predictions, Scot’s strong drinks, Elisha’s terrifying ghost stories, and Lily for saving someone from choking on a candy apple. 

Even Kit had managed to make himself useful — even if useful meant carefully unwrapping and putting out all the dollhouse furniture and dolls into their proper places. 

“There’s something _quite_ seductive about miniatures, isn’t there?” he asked dreamily but Barrett shook his head emphatically. 

“You can set them out, but I’m going to have to pack it all back in again. No way is this thing staying in my house.” 

“It’s such a fine piece of work though…” Kit said regretfully. 

“I’ll sell it to you for two thousand dollars right now,” Barrett replied. 

“Kit, no,” Lily said, when Kit seemed to be considering it. 

“But Lily…” 

Barrett turned away from their brewing argument, reflecting that even someone as smart as Lily could have such a flaw when it came to picking attractive yet idiotic men — himself definitely included. At least he was trying to become more aware of other people’s needs, Barrett thought as he almost collided with Scot. Scot whirled him around and Barrett laughed with startled pleasure. 

“You’re making my head spin, Scotty,” Barrett said as he collapsed into an antique sofa that creaked alarmingly under his weight. When Scot settled in next to him, Barrett leaned in and said, conspiratorially, “But I’ll forgive you for sticking up for me last year. Some people in this town really thought I had something to do with Roche.” 

“I know it wasn’t you,” Scot replied. He handed Barrett a drink. “You’re a friend of mine, Barrett, but to be frank, you’d never be able to hide a double life like that.” 

“That’s right!” Barrett said, slapping his thigh. “I don’t have any secrets.” 

“What kind of secrets?” Declan asked. He leaned over and grabbed Barrett’s drink and took a sip. “What do y’all think of them finding Cecil down there too, bricked up like that? Seems like the Rocheforts and Coleridges — the white ones anyway — had secrets going way back.” 

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Barrett agreed. “Are any of Cecil’s kin still left around here?”

“The Alfords claim Lucretia as a great-auntie,” Scot said, his eyes sharp and observing. “We’re holding a small ceremony at the bar and then we’ll be burying him next to Lucretia.” 

“Together at last,” Barrett murmured. “I’m, uh, trying to figure out how I can help find the names for the two boys who haven’t been identified yet, but I never want to go back to Halcyon again…” 

“You really believe you can talk to ghosts, huh?” Scot said. “I thought it could be — I don’t know…” 

“You already said I’m too stupid for sinister deeds, Scot, don’t change your mind now,” Barrett teased him. Declan cleared his throat. 

“Barrett can talk to ghosts. It’s an objective fact,” he said. “We’ll see it tonight, with the Ouija board.”

“Didn’t no one tell you using a Ouija board is dangerous?” Scot said wonderingly. 

“It’s made by Parker Brothers, not the devil himself,” Declan replied. “Besides, what could possibly go wrong?” 

With those fatal words, the die was cast. 

An hour later, the planchette was frantically zipping across the board, spelling out nonsense. The party had thinned down to the core group — Scot, the Misses Sherol and Fanshaw, Elisha and Declan, Lily and Kit (who had privately cornered Barrett and said that he _did_ want to buy the dollhouse — for his mother, who loved such things). Marylee had gone, saying that she needed to be back before her kids were finished trick-or-treating. Moss had gone with her. 

Before setting up the board — that still no one would admit to bringing — Barrett got everyone to cover the mirrors both in the dining room and throughout the first floor. It wouldn’t hurt to be too cautious about things like this. 

They all gathered around the dining room table, concentrated around the head, where Barrett sat. He tried not to look at the end of the table, where the dollhouse sat, squat, an uninvited guest. The session had started off in a lighthearted enough manner. Someone asked what the results of the upcoming election would be and the planchette had spun around helplessly, spelling out neither Bush nor Gore. 

“Oh, that’s not a good sign, is it?” Elisha sighed. 

“Well, we won’t be the ones to decide things, honey,” Miss Sherol said wearily. There was rather a somber silence that descended on them after that. 

“Well, maybe we can ask about Barrett’s love life,” Scot said as the planchette inched toward no. Barrett laughed along with the rest, but he also shot a nervous look at Lily and then Declan. 

He and Lily hadn’t ever really spoken about the truly deranged call he had made to her, ending their long engagement. When Lily had come down to return the ring, she had met Declan for the first time. 

Barrett had dreaded the awkwardness that seemed inevitable, but both Lily and Declan handled it well. Lily was as gracious as ever and Declan was — well, Declan could be very charming if he wanted to be. And he was — by the end of it, it was like Lily and Declan were old friends and Barrett was the relative stranger. He didn’t mind it, exactly, especially since Lily never let on to Declan that she knew anything about the nature of his relationship with Barrett. 

When it was time for her to go, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed Declan’s cheek. “You’re a sweet boy and I’m sure you don’t want my advice —”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Declan said. He shrugged. “We just met, you know.” 

“I know, but I’ve heard about you,” Lily said calmly. “Barrett cares about you a lot.”

“Lily, please,” Barrett said, alarmed, but Lily waved him off. Suddenly the friendly drinks they had been having didn’t seem like such a great idea. 

“Barrett told me,” Lily said. Declan scoffed loudly and shot Barrett a look. 

“Gonna tell me I’m going to hell?” Declan leaned in, his dark eyes gleaming. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“I’m telling you to go to therapy. The both of you — the stuff you’ve gone through this year is overwhelming. I don’t — I can’t speak to all of it, of course, but grief and trauma makes people do strange things.” 

“Yeah, fucking Barrett is a strange thing we’ve both done,” Declan agreed. 

Barrett put down his sweet tea and said he would go take Rabbit for a walk. When he got back from it, both Declan and Lily were still there. They both looked at him in a weird way. Well, at least things were better between them all now… 

The planchette began to move in a more focused manner after Scot’s question about Barrett. Barrett watched it sharply as it moved deliberately over to B, and then skated over to R and then circled over to the letter O. Deliberately, he knocked over a nearby water glass, causing a mad scramble among the rest of the party-goers in saving the board. 

“That’s amazing,” Barrett said with a smile when things calmed down a little bit and everyone was glaring at him — everyone, that is, except Declan and Lily. “I do have a little crush on Brook Weeks, the waitress at the Chatterbox. She gives me an extra slice of pie whenever she sees me.” 

“Miss Brook’s fifty if she’s a day,” Scot said doubtfully. 

“Yeah, but Barrett’s all about older women, if Rust Kelly’s to be believed,” said Miss Fanshaw, with a devilish smile. “In my day, no one would ever admit to such a thing.” 

“I didn’t admit to anything, Rust found a joke purchase in my car and made all sorts of assumptions,” Barrett protested, but then stopped when he saw that the planchette had again started to move. No one was touching it. 

“Everyone step away from the table,” Declan said sharply. They, as a group, did so, but the planchette kept moving. It was spelling out something. It hovered over the word HELLO before it drifted downward. 

“N - A - M - E,” Barrett read out. “M -E.” 

“Name me?” Kit said with a laugh. “What, does someone have a new puppy?” 

It was then the chandelier above their heads began to shake. The lead crystals began to rain down on the table, smashing as they fell. The chandelier was at least eighty years old and Barrett had a terrible vision of his mother’s crushed wedding china. He stepped forward and took the planchette and rolled it over to the GOODBYE position, before he put it in his pocket. 

“If you’re here and you want to speak, do it. Don’t ruin this house because you’re angry. Talk to us and we’ll help you.” 

The dining room was one of the prettiest rooms in the house — besides the crystal chandelier, the ceiling and walls were decorated with white crown moldings and wainscoting. Somehow the grain of the wood seemed to resolve itself into the shape of a man. Barrett heard someone behind him gasp, but he didn’t look away. The ghost was watching him. Again, he seemed to Barrett like a mirror image of himself, but a strange mirror, one that was wrong. 

But he pushed the feeling of wrongness aside to address the ghost. “What will free you from this place? Who are you?”

“You know,” said the ghost, his voice scratchy and low. “I’ve been sharing your life since you were born. You just didn’t notice it until _he_ came.” 

“I see. Declan,” Barrett said sharply. “Come here and talk to your brother.” 

Declan shuffled beside him and muttered, “You know no one’s ever going to stop talking about this party, right?”

“Never mind that,” Barrett replied. “Concentrate on laying this ghost, goddamn it.” 

It really did seem like the three of them were the only ones in the room now. The rest of the world had faded away. The ghost was looking at them with both anger and inescapable envy. “I didn’t have a life. I died before I could ever take a breath. I don’t even have a name. I existed but no one remembers me.”

“ _Name me_ ,” Barrett said softly. He nudged Declan in the ribs. “Well, name him.” 

“Why me? Okay, you’re Alexander. Alexander Hyatt. You’re my — brother, I guess. I’m sorry you weren’t mourned like you thought you should’ve been. But you can’t — Barrett, you say something, he’s your brother too. Kind of.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Barrett said slowly, “but you can’t take your anger out on everyone around you. Go to the light. Be at peace.” 

Alexander approached him and reached out to touch Barrett. It took all of Barrett’s discipline not to flinch away. 

“Are you scared of me?” Alexander asked him. He looked less and less like Barrett at every moment. Instead, he was simply indistinct. A suggestion of a man rather than the real thing.

“No,” Barrett said, setting his jaw. 

“You should be,” Alexander said. He reached out and brushed his fingers against Barrett’s eyes. Barrett felt a terrible crack of pain across his face. He sagged into Declan’s arms. “I’ll see you soon, Barrett.”

Then he was gone. 

*

“Helluva way to end a party,” Scot said, taking one last sip of his drink. “I can’t believe y’all laid a ghost in front of me and I didn’t see a damn thing.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Barrett told him, touching his bandage. Lily had patched him up as best as she could — Barrett has blamed a piece of flying crystal for the scratch. 

“No one would believe it anyway,” they both said together, and looked at each other in surprise. But as they talked, Scot seemed to forget what they were talking about. 

The rest of the party seemed to have the same kind of trouble remembering the end of the Ouija session. Eventually, they left, one by one, leaving Declan and Barrett there, in a house that contained only them and one dog. They slept the last few hours until All Saints' Day with Rabbit in between them. 

In the morning, they had decided to take Sandy’s ashes on a long road trip, scattering them as they went. Maybe they would head up north, see to the rest of the Barretts too. Whatever they did, they would do it together. 

Love made you free, Sandy used to tell Declan. Her sons believed it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for their encouragement and good wishes — I started this on FFA WIP thread and I’m grateful for the thoughtful and lovely feedback both there and here. 
> 
> Truly amazing to think that all of this came about because of a weird dream I had back in August about a pair of brothers who commit a murder together in a small town. Follow your dreams, y’all. 
> 
> (Sometimes! Not with murder, but ideas. You get it.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Concrit accepted. :)


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